Beyond the Pale
by Crash
Summary: A collection of one-chpater parodies, humorous vignettes, and songifcs. Primarilly featuring Kurt, Scott, Lance, and Pietro, but also featuring just about everyone else somewhere along the way...
1. Bear of Bayville

The planning room of the Xavier Institute...

"So..."  Began Hank McCoy, the blue furry Beast, in a tone laced with annoyance.  Clad in some modified jeans and a large sweater, Beast paced across the room.  "I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here, aren't you?"  Pausing for just a moment, Beast glanced at his assembled audience.

The New Mutants, lined up and standing at attention, glanced at each other nervously.  Eventually, Cannonball spoke up.  "Well, yeah."

Beast snorted and continued pacing.  "In that case, Mister Gunthrie, I shall enlighten you.  I am well aware that all of you are young.  And being young, you are sometimes prone to bouts of immaturity.  Which, will often take assume the form of practical jokes, pranks, and the like."

Berserker and a few others shifted uncomfortably.  Multiple coughed.

"Understand, that is all well and good," the Beast continued.  "I understand that.  Such games are a natural part of growing up.  That is why, for the most part, we administrators have allowed such activities to continue."

Coming to the end of the line, Beast paused, and looked across the room.  Sunspot made the mistake of making eye contact, and quickly shifted his gaze to the far wall.

"But there are some pranks, my young students, that cross the line."

Jubilee quickly stepped forward.  "Look, sir, if this was about the pancakes last Saturday--"

"This isn't about the pancakes," Beast cut off.

Multiple bit his lip.  "Er, the dog food in Kurt's cereal?"

Wolfsbane stifled a giggle, while Beast merely raised his eyebrow.  "What Nightcrawler eats is his own business."

Collectively, the New Mutants remained silent.  Eventually, Berserker spoke up.  "Look sir, then...  What **is** this about?"

Quickly striding forward, Beast stared Berserker in the eye.  The young mutant quickly stepped back into line, and the Beast cast his gaze along the other students.  Shaking his head, Beast stepped backwards and pulled off his sweater.  "This."

The New Mutants stared for a moment.  On Beast's belly, a large segment of blue fur had been carefully shaved away.  The exposed area was roughly circular, but in the center a heart-shaped patch of fur remained.  As they took in the sight, several students chuckled to themselves.  Iceman, always the least restrained of the crowd, burst out laughing.  His outburst triggered more overt signs amusement from the other students.

The Beast snorted.  "Now, I am reasonably sure that at least **one** of you is responsible for this, so I am giving you a chance to fess up now, and avoid any harsher punishment."

The laughter quickly died down, and the students once again stared mutely forward.

Annoyed, the Beast began pacing anew.  "I am warning you, this prank **has** crossed the line.  I am not to be trifled with lightly...  If the guilty party is not found out, you will all share in the consequences."

Always the practical one, Sunspot meekly raised his hand.  "Sir, what exactly are the consequences for, well..."  Sunspot trailed off, gesturing at Beast's chest.  "...That."

"I don't know," quipped Iceman.  "Maybe he'll **stare** at us."

The assembled students stared at Iceman, who seemed to be on the verge of cracking up once again.  Wolfsbane inched closer to Cannonball, and Iceman exploded with a howl of laughter.  Beast watched the young boy through hooded eyes, and the others looked on apprehensibly.

"Huh."  Berserker scratched his head in wonder.  "That was odd."

With his eyes still hooded, Beast slowly shifted his gaze to Berserker.

Noticing the eye contact, Berserker steeped back in apprehension.  "...What?"

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Just outside the main conservatory...

"Scott!" called out Jean as she skipped down the hallway.  "Sorry I took so long, but my hair just wouldn't stay up..."  From his position leaning against the doorframe, Scott glanced at Jean approvingly.  Coming to a stop at his side, she coyly cocked her head.  "So, ready to hit the park?"

"In a moment," Scott causally replied.  "As soon as Hank gets back."

"Oh?"  Curious, Jean glanced through the door Scott was leaning against.  Cannonball, Jubilee and Iceman were sitting on the main couch, Magma lounging in the loveseat with Sunspot perched on the armrest, Berserker was leaning against an end table, and Wolfsbane and Multiple were laying down in front.  All of them seemed mesmerized by the television's hypnotic flicker.  "Should I even ask?"

"Another practical joke," Scott dryly informed.  "While Hank was taking a nap, Bobby shaved a Care Bear emblem into his chest.  So now he has to sit through an eight hour marathon."

Jean looked back at the room and her brow furrowed.  "So why are the others in there with him?"

"Mister Drake is being punished for turning me into a Care Bear."  Approaching with a plateful of sandwiches, the Beast continued the thread.  "Everyone **else **is being punished for not knowing what a Care Bear is.  Thanks for keeping watch Scott."

Scott gave Beast a mock salute.  "Any time."

Stroking her chin thoughtfully, Jean gazed down at the Beast.  "Those were those stuffed animals that rolled into a ball, right?"

The Beast remained silent, staring forward through hooded eyes.

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The conservatory... 

"I'm sorry Scott, but--" Jean fumbled as she steadied herself on the loveseat's free armrest.  "Care Bares, Popples, Wuzzles--They were all just stuffed animals to me!"

Remaining silent, Scott sullenly crossed his arms and sunk deeper into the love seat.

"Hey guys," began Sunspot after a pause, "is it just me, or is True Heart Bear kinda hot?"

Berserker whistled appreciatively.  "It's not just you."

"Funshine is cuter," interjected Multiple.

Iceman chuckled  "Yeah, but check out True Heart's rack.  Bet off-screen she's riding Noble Heart Horse alllll niiiiiight looooooong…"

"**Bobby**!"

Groaning, Scott sunk even deeper into the love seat...

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	2. Comedy Tonight

Disclaimer:  I do not own X-Men: Evolution, nor any other properties used or parodied in this work.  This is done for non-profit fun, and is not meant to infringe on the copyrights of said properties.  This work is rated PG-13 to allow for the occasional foul word, innuendo, or off-color joke.

This first chapter is based on the opening song to the play/movie A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.  If you aren't familiar with the play, I'd highly recommend buying/renting a copy.  Failing that, the opening song is likely available on KaZaa or any other Napster-successor programs.

And now, let the performance begin…

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An empty stage…

A lone spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating a small circle of stage.  After a respectable moment of silence, Kurt Wagner, dressed in his Sunday best, walked into the spotlight.  "Readers,"  he proclaimed, "I bid you welcome.  This website is a **temple, and we are here to worship the gods of ****comedy, and**** tragedy."  Kurt bowed slightly and took a small step back.  "Tonight, I am pleased to announce…"  Kurt looked up with a twinkle in his eye.  "****A comedy!"**

Several houselights come on, and the music began.  "And we shall employ every device we know in our desire to divert you…"  As the music came to a head, Kurt dramatically stepped forward and began to enthusiastically stride across the stage.

"_Something, famil-liar, something, pecul-liar.  Something for ev-'ry-one_!"  With a flair, Kurt spun to face the other side of the audience.  "_A com-med-dy, to-night_!

"_Something apea-lling, something appa-lling.  Something for ev-'re-one_!"  Again, Kurt struck a pose.  "_A com-med-dy, to-night_!"

Kurt jumped to the center of the stage and landed on both knees.  "_No-thing with Kings_," he sang with a quaver to his voice.  "_No-thing with crowns.  Bring on the lov-vers, liars, and clow-wns_!

"_Old sit-ua-tions, new comp-pli-ca-tions_…"  Kurt eased himself back to his feet and raised his voice to the balcony.  "_No-thing portentous or pol-li—ite!  Tra-ged-dy tom-mor-row_!"  Kurt snapped his feet together in a sharp salute.  "_Comedy, to-night_!"

Behind Kurt, the curtains drew back, and the stage lights reached their full brightness.  Characters burst onto the stage from both sides, and began hurriedly intermingling, and chattering loudly.  With a showman's smile, Kurt backed to stage left to let the spectacle take center stage.  As he did, Lance bumped into an Acolyte, who defensively shoved him aside.  Lance shoved back, and the fight escalated.  With seconds back of the stage had become a brawl.

"**Hey**!"  Yelled Kurt, stepping back to the front of the stage.  "Tradgedy **to-mor-row…"   The ruckus instantly halted under Kurt's withering glare.  "Com-medy ****to-night!"  After several seconds, the characters sullenly dispersed, each exiting the way they came.**

Adjusting the front of his shirt, Kurt turned back to face the front of the stage.  With a forced grin, he gestured for the houselights to dim, and began pacing to his left. "_Something expen-sive, something of-fens-sive.  Something for ev-'ry-one!  A com-med-dy to-night_!"

Kurt reached the end of the stage and thumbed his chin in mock suaveness.  "_Passions, compulsions!  Constant commotions…_"  With a dismissive wave Kurt strode back across the stage.  "_Something for ev-'ry-one!  A com-med-dy to-night_!

"_Noth-thing with kings_," Kurt continued from center stage.  "_Noth-thing with crowns.  Bring on the lov-vers, liars and clow-wns_!  _Old sit-ua-tions, new comp-pli-ca-tions…_"  Kurt stepped up and raised his arm dramatically_ No-thing portentous or pol-li—ite!_"  Kurt brought his arm down in excalamation."_Tra-ged-dy tom-mor-row_!"  

"_Com-med-dy to-night_!"

"The assistants…"  Kurt proclaimed as he gestured to Scott and Evan, who had just come on stage to help with the last line.  "The stagehands who will be playing the extras in this play."  Kurt winked.  "**All** of the extras…"

"_Something, comp-pul-sive_," Kurt continued as the two assistants paced around him. "_Something repul-sive. Something for ev-'ry-one!  A com-med-dy to-night!_

"_Something a-esthet-tic_…"

Scott walked in front of Kurt.  "…_Something fren-net-tic_."

"_Something for ev-'ry-one_!"  Continued Evan.

All three stepped forward.  "_A com-med-dy to-night_!"

Kurt took a step back as the assistants leaned forward.  "_Nothing with gods.  Nothing with fate_!"

"_Weighty af-fairs will just have to wa-ait_…"  Kurt finished with a grin.

"_Nothing that's form-mal_," sang Evan.

"_Nothing that's norm-mal_," concluded Scott with a trace of sarcasm.

"_No re-cit-tations to re-ci—ite_!"  They added together.

Kurt stepped between the two assistants and the three of them raised their fists in unison.  "_Open up the cur-tain_…"  Stepping to the side, they all gestured to the back of the stage, where an establishing shot of Bayville and several prop facades were being lowered into place.  "_Com-med-dy to-night_!"

The assistants scurried offstage, leaving Kurt alone on center stage.  "It all takes place in a street in Bayville," he began.  "Around and about these three houses. "First, the School of Bayville!"  Kurt jumped up the steps of the façade and stood triumphantly at the doorway.  "A place of learning!  And for social interaction, among humans, mutants, and those strange creatures who we call 'girls.'  The School of Bayville is watched over by Kelly, a bespectacled young man, who will someday become a Senator.  But I'm sure you already knew that…" 

Jumping down, Kurt strode past the middle façade to the building on the far side of the stage.  "Second, the House of Darkholm!  A place of—"  Kurt stopped short as Lance appeared in the doorway of the Darkholm façade.

"No way, Kurt," Lance angrily began.  "We are not doing this."

Thrown off his rhythm, Kurt glanced back and forth between Lance and the rest of the stage.  "But—  But you have to!"

Lance, with Pietro and Fred behind him, crossed his arms defiantly.  "Kurt, there is no way any of us are dressing in drag and dancing around out there like a bunch of whores."

Beneath his fur, Kurt blushed.  "But—  The script calls for—"

"Hey, what are you guys waiting for?"  Called out Tabitha from behind the façade.  "Hurry up or I won't have enough time to show my moves!"

Pietro looked back with a horrified expression on his face.  "Okay, maybe **one** of us will."

"That's sick," Lance muttered.  Turning back to Kurt, he continued in a tone that left no room for argument.  "We'll join you for the chorus, but for now…  Just move along, Elf."  Lance moved back through the façade doorway, with Pietro and Fred following him.

As the trio departed, Kurt shrugged and walked over to the middle facade.  "Well, last we have the House of Xavier!  Who lives here with his assistants and students.  Also living here, is Nightcrawler.  Nightcrawler is probably my favorite character in the piece.  A role of enormous variety and nuance…  And played by an actor of such…   Well…  Let me put it this way."  Kurt flashed a sincere grin.  "He's me.

"And now," Kurt loudly proclaimed.  "The entire company…"

Kurt stepped forward and continued singing while character filed onstage behind him.  "_Something famil-liar, something pecul-liar.  Something for ev-'ry-one!  A com-med-dy to-night_!"

"Something that's gaud-dy," Added Pietro "_Something that's bawd-dy_," Finished Kitty. 

Kurt cut in with a smile "_Something for ev-'ry-bawdy_!"

"_Com-med-dy To-night_!"  Finished everyone.

"_Nothing that's grim_," sang Rogue.

"_Nothing that's Greek_," added Jean.

Kurt pointed over his shoulder.  "_She voices Ran-ma lat-ter this we-ek_."

"_Stunning sur-pris-ses_," sang the women.

"_Cunning dis-guis-ses_, echoed the men.

"_Hun-dreds of actors out of si—ight_!"  They chorused together.

"_Bod-dysuits and tun-nics_!"  Shouted out Scott. 

"_Sentinals and new-techs_!"  Added Forge.

"_Fight scenes and chas-ses_!"  Trilled Kitty.

"_Baritones and bas-ses_!"  Bellowed Fred.

"_Panderers_!"  Added Pietro.

"_Philanderes_!"  Echoed Evan.

"_Timidity_!"  Cut in Jamie.

"_Stupidity_!"  Continued Bobby.

"_Mistakes_!"  Sang Amara.

"_Fakes_!"  Shouted Remy.

"_Rhymes_!"  Yelled Tabitha.

"_Mimes_!"  Called Lance.

"_Tumblers_," sang a disjointed series of voices.  "_Grumblers, bumblers, bumblers_…"

"_No roy-yal curse_!"  Sang the cast as they finally got synchronized.  "_No Trojan Horse_!"

Kurt stepped forward.  "_And a hap-py ending of cour-rse_!"

"_Good-ness and bad-ness_!"  Chorused the company.

"_This will be mad-ness_," Scott added as an aside.

"_This time it all turns out all ri—ight_!"  The company continued.  "_Traged-dy to-mor-row_!"

"_Comedy_…"  Sang the actors on stage right.

"_Comedy_…"  Echoed stage left.

"_Comedy_…"  They sang together.  "…To-ni—ight!"

As the company held the last note, Kurt stepped forward one last time.  "_One_!"  He counted as he held up his finger.  "_Two_!  **_Three_**!"  Kurt brought down his hand, ending the music and cutting the light.

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	3. How to Burn a Witch

Forge's outdoor workshop…

"Alrighty," Sir Forge, the wise and learned knight, muttered to himself as his arm generated a series of mechanical feelers.  "Just a few more tweaks and…"  The feelers whirled into action, letting out a slight hum.  "…Done!"  Letting his arm morph back to normal, Sir Forge stepped back and marveled at the pair of sparrows who were wearing his newly built towing harnesses.  "Now to string up that coconut…"

Sir Forge turned to rummage through his workbench, but stopped short as he heard a commotion in the distance.  The disturbance approached rapidly, and the learned knight soon found himself facing a mob of local townsfolk.

"We have found a witch," loudly proclaimed Townsman Lance, who was at the lead of the procession.  "May we burn her?"

"Well, that's what we do with witches," Sir Forge affirmed, placing his hands on his hips. "Bring her forward."

The crowd cheered and a gaudishly dressed woman was hustled forward by Townsman Todd and Townswoman Tabitha.

"Stop this!" The woman protested.  "I'm not a witch!"

Sir Forge looked down at Townsman Lance.  "Hey, she says she's not a witch."

"She's lying," Townsman Lance assured.  "She is called Daytripper and is a witch of much renown."

"I am **not** a witch!"  Insisted the woman as she was thrown in front of Sir Forge.

"Oh, yeah you are," Townsman Todd countered.

"Are you sure?"

"Of **course** we're sure!"  Townswoman Tabitha attested.  "She looks like one!"

Sir Forge leaned forward for a closer look.  The woman has long, blond hair, a dimple on her cheek, and was dressed in skintight red leather cat suit with bright yellow trim.  "No she doesn't."

"What'd'ya mean?"  Demanded Townsman Todd.

Sir Forge scowled.  "Witches look like old hags.  They're ugly, worn out, and dress in raggy black robes."

"That's a common view," Townsman Lance spoke up.  "But it's really just an uninformed stereotype.  Real witches are actually quite vein, and are very concerned about their looks.  Any witch worth burning can easily cast a few beauty spells and transform herself into an unassuming babe."

Sir Forge stroked his chin thoughtfully.  "Good point.  I never really thought it through like that."  The learned knight regarded the woman for a moment.  "And she certainly looks like an unassuming babe.  Lets burn her."

The townsfolk erupted in cheer.

"No!"  Protested the woman.  "I don't really look like this!  **They **dressed me this way!"

Sir Forge glanced at the townsman beside him.  "Did you dress her like this?"

"No…"

"Yes you did!"  The woman insisted.  "My name is Amanda Sefton, and I'm a natural **brunette**.  I've never had a dimple and these are not by breasts!"

Sir Forge blinked in disappointment.  "They're not?"

"No, they are **false** ones!"

Sir Forge looked disapprovingly over the townsfolk.

"Well," Townsman Lance reluctantly admitted.  "We did do the hair."

"And the chest," added Townsman Todd.

The crowd remained sullenly quiet for a moment.

"But she's a witch!"  Townswoman Tabitha yelled.

"**Burn** her!"

"Burn her anyway!"

Sir Forge raised his hands and gestured for the crowd to calm down.  "Quiet.  **Quiet**…"  The knight paused for a moment.  "We have ways of dealing with this.  Now, **why** do you think she is a witch?"

"Yo, she looks like one!"  Townswoman Tabitha cuffed the back of Townsman Todd's head.

"We have **tested** her, sir knight!"  Proudly proclaimed Townsman Lance.  "She weighs that of a duck, **and** she doth float on **water**!"

Sir Forge raised an eyebrow.  "How does that make her a witch?"  Townsman Lance's smile faded, and he sullenly looked at the ground.  "And did you use that big scale in the town square?  That thing has been broken for years."

After a moment of silence, Townswoman Tabitha spoke up.  "She made the air fetid and smelly at the Darkholme Inn!"

"That was Townsman Fred during burrito night."  Sir Forge looked out over the crowd.  "Well, why else?"

"I told you, good sir knight," pleaded the accused woman.  "I am not a witch and have done nothing to warrant be accused as one!"

"Of course you have!"  Yelled back Townswoman Tabitha.

"Like what?"

Townsman Todd reluctantly spoke up.  "She turned me into a **toad**, yo."

Sir Forge crossed his arms skeptically.  "A **toad**?"

"Yeah.  See?"  Townsman Todd opened his mouth, and a long grayish tongue shot out and snatched buzzing fly.  The tongue instantly retracted and the townsman swallowed.  "A toad."

Slightly stunned, the learned knight scratched his head for a moment.  "Well," he proclaimed at length.  "Looks like she's a witch.  Lets have ourselves a burning!"

The crowd erupted into a cheer, and the witch was triumphantly carried off.

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	4. St John's Fire

The Acolyte headquarters…

As they often did when not on a mission, the Acolytes were lounging around the rec room.  Victor, a large, feral man with a grating voice, was sitting in a tattered sofa, absently flipping through channels on the television.  Poitr, a young black-haired Ukrainian, was sitting at a gaming table, across from Remy, a roguish looking Cajun.

"Comrade," began Poitr, looking across the table.  "You have won the past five games in a row.  I think you are **cheating**."

"Cheating?"  Balked Remy, in his heavy Cajun accent.  "Moi?  Why would you suspect that?"

"Huh, I don't know."  Droned Victor from across the room.  "Maybe because you call yourself 'Gambit,' and you have an obsession with playing cards that boarders on a fetish…  You tell me."

Remy solemnly put his hand over his heart.  "You wound me, _Homme_.  You cut me real deep."

Victor looked over and snorted.  "I **may** if you don't cut out that French crap…"  With a grunt, Victor returned his gaze to the television.

"We will play again, Comrade," Poitr continued in a warning tone.  "But in this game, **I** will deal."

"Fair 'nough."  Remy casually tossed his cards across the table.

As Poitr attempted to shuffle the cards, St. John, the young Australian fire-controlling Acolyte, ran into the room.  His visored cowl was pulled back, and he wore a loose orange gi over his usual metallic attire.  "**Guys**!"  He yelled out.  "Guys, c'mere!"

Victor pointedly ignored the interruption.  Poitr looked back with some interest, and Remy casually leaned forward on the table.  "'S'up, _Homme_?"

"Just check **this** out," answered St. John with a grin.  The young Aussie closed his eyes for a moment, and then let out a blood-curdling scream.

Victor winced and looked back.  Poitr drew back nervously, and Remy raised an eyebrow.

St. John's scream deepened, and several sparks appeared near the flame-throwers he wore on his wrists.  The sparks circled the Aussie, and then abruptly exploded into a ring of flames.  As St. John opened his eyes, he was encased in tear-shaped flickering aura, and his short orangish hair was swept upwards by the rising hot air.

"Okay," St. John asked with a wide smile.  "What am I?"

"Johnny Storm?"  Remy suggested.

Poitr gestured weakly.  "Comrade, you are on **fire**."

Victor shook his head and sat back in his couch.  "Our teammate, unfortunately…"

St. John shook his head.  "No…  I'm a Super Saiyan!"

Remy remained unmoved.

"No, Comrade," corrected Poitr.  "You are Super **Villain**.  We all are.  That is why we wear metallic armor and take orders from a man bearing a **cape** and **helmet**."

St. John weakly pointed to his hair.  "Yeah, but…  But…"  The flames abruptly went out, the boy's hair fell back to normal.  "Oh, just never mind…"

Poitr blinked a few times as his dejected teammate sullenly walked away.  Then, with a shrug, he resumed shuffling the cards.

Sitting back up, Remy shook his head.  "Dat boy needs to stop watchin' so many cartoons…."

Poitr nodded and began dealing.  After a moment of silence, he stopped and abruptly raised his head.  "Wait…  That was it?  That was the entire sketch?"

Remy looked around and shrugged.  "Guess so, _Homme_."

Victor snorted.  "Pretty weak, if you ask me…"

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	5. Down the Well

The living room…

Pietro Maximoff awoke slowly to the incessant sounds of Saturday morning television.  Stifling a yawn, Pietro stretched and sat up.  It didn't take the speedster long to realize that he had once again fallen asleep on the couch.  Pietro stretched again and got to his feet.  

"Todd," he droned, rubbing the back of his neck.  "Would you turn that down?  **Some** us were still trying to sleep around here."

"Sorry, PiaYetro."  The volume was quickly adjusted accordingly.

Pietro cocked an eyebrow.  "That didn't sound like Todd…"  Fully awake, Pietro glanced back at the television.  The screen was showing some cartoon with big eyed kids, and what looked like a ten year old boy was laying down in front of it.

As Pietro watched, the boy craned his head to look back.  To Pietro's shock, the kid's eyes were as big as those on the screen.

"So did you sleep well, PiaYetro?"  The boy asked.

Pietro blinked several times in succession.  "**Kid**!"  He burst out.  "What are you **doing** here?!"

"Watching TV," the boy simply replied.  At Pietro's expression, the boy tapped his head.  "Oh yeah, sorry.  Television.  It's like a box that tells stories.  Only the stories are like pictures and they move and have sound."  The boy smiled, satisfied with his explanation.

Pietro practically face faulted.  "I **know** what a television is!   What I want to know is just who in the Hell you think you are!" 

The boy frowned, more concerned than surprised.

Pietro paused.  "Wait a sec.  Did I just—"

"Souta, is that you in there?"  Pietro spun around, and saw a youngish housewife looking at him from the kitchen.  "Oh, PiaYetro.  I didn't realize you were up.  Sorry."  With a slight wave of her hand, the housewife turned to leave.

For a moment, Pietro stared at her blankly.  Turning back to the boy, he noticed that the kid was once again engrossed in the television.  Unnerved, Pietro sat back down on the couch.  "Just what in the world is going on here?"  He asked himself.  "Is Lance trying to play some sort of practical…"

Pietro quietly trailed off.  The couch he was sitting on was not the same one that was in the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House.  The room he was in was not part of the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House.  The ten year old kid and his mother were **certainly** not residents of the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House.  "Where the Hell am I?"  Pietro again asked.  Then he blinked.  "And since when do I swear?  I've never…"

Again, Pietro trailed off.  This time, he trailed off looking at his hands, whose fingers each bore a well-manicured claw.  Giving the rest of his body a look over, Pietro realized that he was wearing very heavy and very thick set of shirt and pants.  The pants were red—a color Pietro had always avoided—and were horrendously oversized.  He wore an equally oversized outer red shirt—complete with sliced shoulders—and an off-white undershirt.  He also wore what appeared to be a necklace consisting of a series of black beads and claws.

Pietro sunk back against the couch's backrest.  "What **happened** to me?"  He muttered.  As he lowered his head in despair, several clumps of hair fell into his face.  Pietro noted with some satisfaction that his hair was still silver, and that he still had traditional side-tresses.  However, it was about two feet longer than it should have been.  "Well," he muttered to himself.  "Looks like I've discovered another aspect of my mutant powers.  First super-speed, now super-fast **hair-growth!**  Gee, Dad, thanks a **lot**.  This'll **really** be useful…"

Pietro let his head fall and ran his hand along the side of his head in frustration.  Abruptly he sat straight up.  Deliberately, he felt the side of his head again.  To his dismay, he felt the exact same thing.  "I have no ears," he concluded.

"Sure you do," replied a perky feminine voice.  "They're right here."

Pietro jumped up as he felt a harsh stinging sensation somewhere atop his head.  "**Do you mind**!?"  He angrily spat out as he faced the new character.

The doe-eyed girl who had been leaning over the back of the couch looked at Pietro expectantly.  "Oops," she chirped.  "Did that hurt?"

"**Yes**!"  Pietro spat out.  "What on Earth did you **do**!?"

"Oh, lighten up, PiaYetro," continued girl.  Even in his annoyed state, Pietro gave the girl a quick look over.  She stood about his height, had big brown eyes and a thick crop of long black hair, and was dressed in a short skirt and a vaguely-fashionable yet still-conservative top.  "I just flicked your ear.  It's no big deal…"

Still wincing, Pietro did his best to scowl at the girl.  She remained unintimidated.

"Y'know, it's about time you got up.  It's practically mid morning."  Walking around the couch, the girl dismissively waved her hand in the air.  "Boy, give a demon a **real** mattress and they sleep for days…"

With the girl now standing directly in front of him, Pietro crossed his arms and scowled.  "First off, you freaky little girl, I am not a demon, I am a mutant.  And second—"

"Hey!"  Exclaimed the girl, causing Pietro to wince.  "I have a name, you know."

Pietro rubbed the side of his head, vaguely remembering that his ears were no longer there.  "Yeah, well, I must have missed it," he shot back sarcastically.

"Hmp!"  The girl scrunched her face into a pout and craned her neck forward.  "Since you've apparently **forgotten**, my name is **Kagome**.  **Kah**—**go**—**may**!"

Pietro leaned forward in mock imitation.  "Yeah, well mine is Pietro.  Pea—yeh—troe.  Why don't you try to get that right before you start flicking anymore ears."

Kagome crossed her arms and frowned.  "Well, somebody sure got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

 "Actually, I was sleeping on the couch.  There's really only one side you **can** getout of…"  Pietro shook his head and tried to walk around Kagome.  "Ya doe-eyed freak."

"Doe-eyed?!"  Kagome exclaimed.  "What's that supposed to mean, PiaYetro?  It's not like my eyes are any weirder than yours!"

Despite everything that had happened in the past five minutes, despite all the physical deformalities he had discovered, Pietro stopped in his tracks.  For a few seconds, he stood very still.  "Kagome…"  He began, purposefully keeping his voice level.  "Excuse me for **one** moment."

Pietro sprinted forward, moving in a blur.  In a fraction of a second, he ran into the kitchen, through the laundry room, past the hall closet, out the back door, back in the back door, backtracked to the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom.  For one very long second, he stared dumbstruck at his reflection in the mirror.  Just as Kagome had said, his eyes were about three times the size they should have been.  His ears were gone, his mouth was normal, and his nose was noticeably smaller than it used to be.  His silver hair was bushy, with two long tresses that fell down the side of his head, and the rest of his mane sweeping back behind him.  As he stared at his reflection, Pietro noticed two white pointed dog-ears poking through the hair on the top of his head.

"If anything," yelled Kagome, from across the house.  "My eyes are **more** normal than yours!  I mean, mine are just brown…"  Pietro belatedly noticed that his eyes were yellow.  Fighting off a nervous twitch, Pietro sprinted back to the living room.

"Kagome," Pietro began, staring the girl in the eyes and gripping her firmly by the shoulders.  "I am going to ask you a couple of very simple questions, which I would like you answer as plainly as you can.  Okay?"  Kagome blinked.  "Where am I?"

"…My house," Kagome replied after a moment of condescending silence.

Pietro's expression remained unchanged.  "Where am I?"

"Japan?"  Kagome suggested.

"Of course!"  Pietro's voice almost hit a falsetto.  "And I suppose next you'll tell me you're Japanese!"

"Duh."

Pietro blinked, and looked Kagome over once again.  Doe-eyes aside, she could easily pass for Lance Alvers' younger sister.

Kagome reached up to feel Pietro's forehead.  "PiaYetro, are you feeling all right?"

"**_No_**!"  Pietro exclaimed, in a voice that did hit a falsetto.  "How can I be in Japan?!"

Kagome gently removed Pietro's hands and started leading him back to the couch.  "Maybe you'd better lie down.  I'll go have Mom heat you some tea…"

In a panicked flurry, Pietro jolted out of Kagome's grip and anxiously grabbed her by her shoulders.  "Listen, girl, I am **not** from around here!  I need to find out **how** I ended up in this place and then somehow find a way to—"

"You mean the well?" Kagome asked.

Pietro stared at Kagome in silence.

"The well that acts as a gateway between our worlds?"  Continued Kagome, frowning.  Pietro blinked in response.  "Uh, the one out back, in the temple that I live at?"  Pietro stared at Kagome for a moment longer.  Abruptly, he disappeared in a blur, causing Kagome to stumble back in surprise.

Gratefully noting that he still has his normal super-speed, Pietro dashed out the door and found the aforementioned well in a matter of seconds.  Without hesitation he vaulted over the side, and fell down into its depths.  As approached the bottom, the world around him faded away into a bluish light.  After a moment, the light faded, and Pietro touched down in the bottom of a wide, dry well.

Pietro looked up, and saw a light blue sky above him.  "Well, here goes nothing…"  Taking a deep breath, Pietro darted up the side of the well.  On the grass above, he took a quick look around.  He was on the slightly forested hill that made up the backyard of his home.  Nearby, he saw the familiar roofline of the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House poking above the treetops.  

"Yes!"  Pietro raised his arms in celebration.  Then he froze.  Next to the Boarding House stood a 80-plus foot tall humanoid mech.  "…No…"  Pietro let his hands drop, and stared at the mech in stupefied disbelief.

A perky feminine voice eventually drew Pietro from his stupor.  "Y'know PiaYetro, next time you run off, you could at least **warn** me first."

Pietro blinked and stuck his head over the well.  Sure enough, Kagome was climbing out of it.  "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose off running off in the first place?"

Kagome gave Pietro a dirty look as she pulled herself over the top.  "Ha, ha."  She droned sarcastically.  "Anyways, you forgot Myouga."

Pietro blinked.  "Who—"  Abruptly, a dark speck—a flea—jumped off of Kagome and straight at Pietro's shoulders.  "**Kyah**!"  Pietro's reflexes instantly kicked in, allowing him to sidestep the insect and to smash it between his hands in mid-air.  Pietro triumphantly stepped back, and the flattened insect fell to the ground.

"Ooh," crooned Kagome.  "You squashed Myouga…"

Pietro blinked.  "You named a flea?"

Pietro heard a small popping sound, and a black speck jumped up his pant leg and onto his shoulder.  "Actually, Lord PiaYe—"

"**Gah**!"  Startled, Pietro smashed his hand against his shoulder.

The flattened Myouga again floated to the ground before regaining his wits and jumping defensively onto Kagome.  "Lord PiaYetro seems rather jumpy today," the flea confided.

Kagome looked down at her shoulder and nodded.  "Yeah, I noticed that too."  Dumbstruck, Pietro stared at the pair.  After a moment, Kagome noticed his attention.  "What?  You have been."

Shaking his head, Pietro began slowly walking down the hill to his house.  "Somebody's **got** to have a logical explanation for all this…"

"PiaYetro!"  Kagome called out.  "Wait up!"  Pietro kept walking, but Kagome quickly caught up to him.

Abruptly, Pietro's dog-ears twitched, sensing the hum of a rapidly approaching engine.  Pietro narrowed his eyes and pushed through the last grove between him and the Boarding House.

"Hey, **Lance**!"  A haggard voice called out.  "The Gundum is blocking the garage!  Where am I supposed to park my E-Frame?!"

Expecting the worst, Pietro walked into the clearing surrounding the Boarding House, and quickly surveyed the scene.  The house itself looked thankfully unchanged.  The giant mech, however, was a completely new addition.  Standing at well over eighty feet tall, it completely dwarfed the house.  Pietro's gaze eventually settled on a second, ten-foot tall orange biped mech that was cooling its engines in the driveway.

Lance's muffled voice answered from somewhere in the house.  "Then just park it next to the Gundum.  We'll be out in a minute…"

"Ah, whatever," replied a voice from the mech.  "I'll just leave it right here…"

Pietro blinked, placing the haggard voice.  "Sabertooth?"

A hatch in the front of the mech opened up, and a figure began to step out.  "Great timing kid.  You're just in time for—"  The speaker cut off as his head got jerked back.  Muttering to himself, he angrily pulled a plug from the back of his neck.  "Stupid uplink wire…"  Dropping the cable, the figure turned to face Pietro.

Pietro's expression contorted in surprise.  The figure was indeed Victor Creed, the Sabertooth.  Except he had a beer gut.  A massive beer gut.  He was dressed in some cross between a pilot's outfit and carapace armor, with his usual ratty trench coat hanging loosely over it.

"Talk about your fashion victim," observed Kagome, from behind Pietro.

Victor did a double take, noticing Kagome for the first time.  He quickly recovered, and a wide grin came over his face.  "Nice work, kid!  You really **are** you're father's son!"

Pietro frowned.  "Huh?"

Chuckling to himself, Victor turned back towards his mech and opened up the barrel that passed for the mech's arms.  "Bring up your girlfriend, too.  I brought enough beer for everyone…"

"She is **not** my girlfriend!"  Pietro shrieked.

"Yeah," Kagome confirmed, crossing her arms.

"She's just some stupid little girl who's been following me since I woke up!"

Kagome's expression darkened.  "PiaYetro—"

Pulling out a twelve pack, Victor smiled knowingly at Pietro.  "You make me proud, kid."

"All **right**!"  Declared a voice from the doorway of the Boarding House.  "Time to rock this place!"

Recovering quickly from his tirade, Pietro glanced towards the speaker.  It was Lance Alvers, and Pietro was immensely relieved to see that he still had his usual brown hair and grunge style clothing.  "Lance!"  Pietro called out.  "What's going on here?"

"Gunna watch some movies," the teen replied, smirking.  Pietro's expression contorted, as he gazed at the mech that Lance had casually walked by.  "Rombos one, two, and three!  And Victor brought the beer…"

"Oh yeah, yo!"  A small tan rodent ran past Lance.  "Party time!"

"Lance?"  repeated Pietro, dumbstruck.  "Todd is a gerbil?"

"Hamster, actually," informed Lance as he continued forward.  "But hey, it beats being a toad."

"You mean **Miller** Time," corrected Fred Dukes as he closed the door behind him.  Fred had dropped well over a hundred and fifty pounds, and was dressed in a meticulously clean and well pressed military outfit.  Complete with medals and shoulder knots.  This time, Pietro just raised an eybrow.

Lance whistled appreciatively, noticing Kagome for the first time.  "Hey Pietro, aren't you going to introduce us to your new girlfriend?"

"I am not that creep's girlfriend!"  Kagome informed.

Lance smiled.  "His loss.  Care to join us anyway?"

Before Pietro realized it, he had rushed across the yard and had grabbed Lance by the collar of his vest.  "Don't even think about it," he warned.

Lance smirked, and backed away in mock submission.

"_Pe-tro and his girlfriend, sittin' in a tree_," sang the rodent, who was perched atop the mech and shaking a pair of maracas to the rhythm.  "_Kay-Ey-Ess-Ess-Ey-Enne_—"  A thrown stone shattered one of the maracas and the rodent fell to the side in surprise.

Glowering menacingly, Pietro rolled another rock around in his hand.

"Like father, like son," mused Victor, handing a pair of twelve packs to Lance.  "Your old man would be proud.  Sure you don't want to join us, kid?"

Pietro narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in mock contemplation.  "Well, gee, I'd really love to, but first I'd kinda like to know **what the** **Hell is going on here**!?"

"You 'bout took my head off, yo," muttered the rodent.  "That's what's goin' on."

"Sure **you** don't want to join us?"  Asked Lance, looking Kagome's way.

The girl narrowed her eyes.  "Gag me…"

Lance shouldered one of the twelve packs, not even shrugging.  "Eh whatever.  Lets **rock** this place!"

Victor belched and started carrying a second pair of twelve packs toward the house.  The others laughed and followed him.

Pietro wrinkled his nose in disgust.  "That's it, I'm outta here."  Pietro took off in a blur.

"**Sit**, **boy**!"

Pietro was abruptly pulled into the ground, skidding a good twenty feet through the turf before colliding with a tree.  It took him a moment to regain his bearings.

"Oh, no you don't," lectured Kagome as she approached the fallen boy.  "You're not running off on me **this** time."

Pietro angrily pushed himself to his feet.  "How the Hell did you **do** that?!"  He demanded.

Kagome haughtily crossed her arms.  "Hmp.  By saying…"  Kagome let her voice trail off before yelling that last word.  "**Sit**!"

Again, Pietro was violently forced to the ground.  As he pushed himself up, Myouga hopped onto his shoulder.

"Just to remind you, Lord PiaYetro," the flea informed, "your collar has been enchanted by the priestess Kieta, preventing you from doing physical harm to Lady Kagome and, erm," the flea trailed off.  "And…  **Halting** you whenever she says the incantation—"

"Sit."  Kagome finished.

"That was **totally** unnecessary!"  Yelled Pietro as he pushed himself up for the third time.  "I had already gotten the message."  Sneering, Pietro looked at his necklace with a newfound disgust.  "So should I assume I can't take this thing off?"

"Yes," Myauga continued.  "That is another component of the spell."

"Figures," Pietro muttered.  The boy brushed the dirt out of his hair and then glanced up at Kagome.  "Well if you want to come along, **fine**, just don't complain about the ride."

Before Kagome could respond, Pietro rushed forward and swept Kagome off her feet.  Pietro moved like a blur away from the Boarding House and into the city of Bayville.  Carrying his passengers, it took him a good fifteen seconds to navigate though the (thankfully familiar) city, and to wind up at his desired destination.  Jumping the front gate with ease, he finally came to a stop on the front lawn of a very luxurious red-brick mansion.

"—Ooh…"  Muttered Kagome, as Pietro set her down.  Straightening out her skirt, she gazed appreciatively at the mansion.  "Where are we, PiaYetro?"

"Unless I miss my guess," interjected Myouga, who was climbing out of the folds of Pietro's shirt.  "We are standing before the fabled house of Xishieverre, a powerful demon, but one renowned mostly for his skills at training **other** demons."

"Why don't we just call it the Xavier Institute," commented Pietro as he brushed the flea off his shoulder.  "And say that somebody there can give me some answers."

"Answers to what?"  Asked Kagome, following Pietro a pace behind.  "Why you're acting so weird today?"

"Yes," Pietro deadpanned as he climbed the stairs to the front entrance.  "Why **I'm** so weird today…"  Pietro opened the door.

"Stay a—**way** from me!"

Stepping across the threshold, Pietro casually glanced around the mansion's large, open foyer.  Following the sound of the voice, he gazed upwards, and spotted Scott Summers perched in the chandelier.  Scott's face, though still visored, seemed inordinately chiseled.  His brown hair looked closer to black than it did to red, and seemed to billow in whatever wind blew up near the ceiling.  Instead of his usually preppy slacks and sweater, he wore leather boots, loose trousers, and a laced up Celtic-inspired sleeveless shirt.

"And of course," Pietro noticed, almost as an afterthought, "he's got fluffy white bird-wings."

"Oooo—_ooh_," crooned Kagome, much to Pietro's disgust.

"I—I mean it!"  Scott repeated.  "Keep back!"

Pietro lowered his gaze to the floor, where Scott's other observers were standing.

First, there was Hank McCoy, the mansion's resident blue furry Beast.  And apparently, the mansion's resident gun toting maniac, as he was dressed like part of come high-tech swat team, and carrying enough weaponry to make a Navy Seal shy away.  Beside him was a young girl, whom Pietro immediately pegged as Kitty Pryde.  Her features were slightly altered, but she was still a brown-haired, teenaged girl with a pendant necklace.  Next to her, however, was a strange yellow… Thing.  It supported itself on a stubby tentacle-like leg, had no arms, and had a single exposed eye that was larger than a basketball.  

"I've met some pretty weird demons around you, PiaYetro," Kagome commented, staring wide eyed at the scene.  "But…  Freak.  Out."

"You're telling **me** to keep back?!"  The Beast roared, banishing some sort of assault rifle.   "You're the one who should be keeping back!  You try that again and I'll—"

"Hey!"  Cried the eyeball-thing, in a unsurprisingly whiny voice.  "Careful with that thing!"

"Hank—No!"  Pietro blinked as a large yellow and black humanoid robot dashed forward and grabbed the gun from the Beast's hands.  "Will you please settle down?  He already told you, he didn't **mean** it!"

The Beast, who's attitude seemed quite altered by his change of attire, quickly pulled out a sidearm and pointed it at the robot.  "Don't make excuses for him Jean!  He was warned—"

"Jean?"  Pietro raised an eyebrow and eyed the robot again.  It was moving quickly, but he could make out something of a feminine quality behind its features.

Stepping away from the escalating tussle behind her, Kitty looked pleadingly up at the airborne boy.  "Scott, please, come down so we can discuss this."

"No!"  Scott yelled, his normally calm voice shaking.  "No, I'm not coming down!  You saw what happened!  I'm dangerous to be around!"

Kitty tried to make a few sincere hand motions.  "Rogue is **fine**!"

"Then why isn't she down there?"  Demanded Scott.  "Huh?  If she's okay, where is she?!"

Kitty sighed in frustration.  "Just getting some ice, Scott.  A little time and some ice and she'll be fine."  Kitty stepped forward and continued in a calming tone.  "All you did was push her aside.  She fell against the wall, and got a bruise.  She's all right.  We've all had worse.  Nobody is blaming you—"

"**I** blame you, you bullying—"

The eyeball-thing screamed and darted behind a chair.

"Hank, stand **down**!"  Commanded the robot.

"Kitty, listen," continued Scott, in a voice as shaky as ever.  "I can't be trusted.  I can't control my powers.  I **never** have!  I can't control my optic blast!  I hit Rogue with wings without even knowing it—"

"But Scott—"  Pleaded Kitty.

"And I almost plastered **you** after breakfast!  And I don't even know what I did!"  Scott's tirade rocked the chandelier, and the boy crouched down to regain his balance.  "Face it Kitty," he continued in a quiet voice.  "I'm a danger to myself and **everyone** around me…"

The robot—which Pietro belatedly noticed had several pairs of eyes on its forehead—looked forlornly at Scott.  Giving Hank a warning look, it give him back his gun, and then transformed into human-sized spider.

"**Eywe**…"  Exclaimed Kagome.

"…Yeah," echoed Pietro.

Scott's breathing quickened as the spider climbed up the walls and began scurrying across the ceiling.  

"Scott," it began, with a metallic voice that only remotely resembled Jean's.  "Please, relax.  Just stay calm.  You're not dangerous as long as you stay calm."

"So you admit I **am** dangerous," Scott affirmed, eyeing the spider uneasily.

Amusement played across the spider's techno-arachnid features.  "Only if **we're** unprepared Scott.  We all know about your optic blast.  That's why you wear the visor."

Pietro shook his head.  "Man, if he needs to be reminded of that…"

"You do control your optic blast," the spider continued.  "I'm sure you can control this one too.  If you couldn't, I'm sure it would have gone off more than once.  And even if it does go off," the spider raised its front pair of metallic legs, "look, I'm sure **I** can survive the blast…"

"Please, Scott," continued Kitty from the ground, "just come down somewhere where we can think this out."

"You're not as dangerous as you look," soothed the spider.  "You're not dangerous at all."  Again, amusement played across the spider's features.  "And actually, with those wings, you look kind of cute."

A concentric telekinetic burst shattered the chandelier, showering the room with shards of glass.  The spider flinched away, while Kitty, Beast, and the eyeball-thing dove for cover.  Acting before thinking, Pietro grabbed Kagome and dashed across the room, setting her deep in the main hallway before the first shards had even hit the ground.

"Oh, no," gasped Kagome as she steadied herself.  "The demon—"

Pietro glanced back down the hall, and saw Scott land gracefully within a cascade debris.  "I can barely control my powers!"  He yelled, not missing a beat.  "You might not be able to control yours!"

"Scott—"  came the spider's voice.

Scott dashed towards the front door.  "You're a spider, Jean.  Spiders **eat** their mates!  Being cute is two steps away from being a mate!"  Mid stride, Scott grabbed the side of his visor, and a crimson blast knocked down the front door.  Scott slid through the door, and leapt off the front stairs.  With his wings unfolding to their full span, he brought them together in a mighty downstroke, and began rising into the sky.  "So stay away…"  He called back.

Having quickly recovered, Kitty sprinted to the front door.  "Suezo!"  She snapped.  "Get to Scott's car!  As long as you can still see him, we'll be able to track him!  C'mon!"  With a frantic arm gesture, Kitty sprinted to the garage.  The eyeball thing followed her, hopping as fast as its one leg could take it.

"I knew it!"  Yelled Beast, hauling some munitions to the doorway.  "I knew he couldn't be trusted!  Die, you winged vagrant!"  The Beast put his gun to his shoulder, and began firing wildly.

"Hank!"  Screamed the spider as it dropped to the ground  "Stop it!"

"Lord PiaYetro," began Myouga, once again dislodging himself from the folds of Pietro's shirt.  "May I suggest that you seek out some **other** demons to pose your questions to?"

"Really?  Now why would I want to do that?"  Pietro mocked.  Despite his sarcasm, he quickly turned to leave.  However, Kagome stayed put, staring blankly at Pietro.  "What?"  The boy asked, noticing her attention.

"You," Kagome softly replied.  "You made sure I was safe."

Pietro blinked.  "When?"  Kagome just stared at him.  Shaking his head, Pietro grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled her down the hall.  "Stupid girl," he muttered under his breath.

"Lord PiaYetro, I would suggest that—"

"I would suggest that you shut up, you plague carrying menace," cut in Pietro.  "You obviously have no idea what's going on here, so just keep your opinions to yourself."

The flea sullenly crossed his arms.

"Are you looking for the head demon?"  Asked Kagome, as she began walking for herself.

Pietro snorted.  "I'm looking for Xavier, if that's what you mean.  Hopefully, he knows something—"

"Ye-_e-_e_-e_-es…  You back away!  As you should.  For I now posses the power of this Mini-Con!"  Pietro's pace slowed as he approached the entrance to the kitchen.  "Now I am **invincible**."

"I am **not** looking for Xavier," Pietro corrected, shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Why not?"  Chirped Kagome.

Pietro opened one eye and glanced at Kagome.  Sighing, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

"Professor!  That's my skateboard!"

"Correction, my young fool.  It **was** your skateboard.  Now Grindor belongs to me!"

"…Because," Pietro informed Kagome, ushering her inside, "the wise and learned 'Xishiver' is busy threatening his students with a skateboard and a tube of cardboard."  Pietro gestured to the center of the room, where the wheelchair-bound Charles Xavier was grinning like a lunatic, and pointing to a gray skateboard which had been duct-taped to his right wheel.  A long cardboard tube was taped to the chair's armrest, and was being banished like a gun.

"Professor," began a dark skinned woman, only to be cut off by a bout of maniacal laughter.

"Be wary, Lord PiaYetro," informed Myouga.  "The demon Xishieverre has many skills, and is not to be—"

"No, he doesn't," droned Pietro.

Myouga wiggled his carrot-like nose in irritation.  "Nor should you take lightly the demons he argues with.  Their complexions bode ill.  Such black skins can only come from dark magics and foul intent—"

"Stupid, **and** racist," commented Pietro as he flattened Myouga against his shoulder.

"Do you know those demons, PiaYetro?"  Kagome asked, speaking loudly to be heard of Xavier's laughter.

The smaller of the dark skinned 'demons,' a boy with bleached-yellow hair, white tank top and sagging shorts, heard the question and looked over.  "Pietro?!"  He spat out.  "What are **you** doing here?"

"I came for a bagel, Daniels," Pietro sarcastically replied.  "Why do **think** I'm here?"

Evan Daniels scowled.  "I don't know.  Maybe a haircut?"  The boy snorted.  "Who's your girlfriend?"

"She—"  Pietro broke off, scowling.  "She's more than you'll ever get, Daniels."

"Yeah, I'm—"  Kagome balked.  "**What**?!"

"Oh, go buy some hairspray!"  The young boy retorted. 

Further bickering was cut off by Xavier's renewed rambling.  "Ha, ha! Already you crumble before my might!   Ye-_e-_e_-e_-es, you are reduced to bickering amongst yourselves.  Well, don't worry, I'll have time enough to crush you **all**!  With Sureshock powerlinked to me, you have no way to defeat me."  Xavier triumphantly pointed to the skateboard attached to his wheelchair.

"Sureshock?!"  Spat out Evan, quickly forgetting about Pietro.  "Two seconds ago you called it Grindor!"

"Your mind games will not work on **me**, young stripling!  I have what I came for, I can finish the rest of you later."  Laughing, Xavier wheeled back a foot or so and sat up straight.  "Starscream!"  He commanded to nobody in particular.  "Teleport me back to headquarters at once!"  As soon as he gave the order, he froze, pixelized, and disappeared block by block.

"Hmp," muttered Myouga from the safety of Kagome's shoulder.  "I **told** you he had great powers."

Orroro, the taller of the dark skinned 'demons,' leaned against the counter and hung her head in frustration.  "Professor…"

"Starscream!"  Yelled Evan.  "This morning the Prof was in the hanger talking to the X-jet.  He was calling it Starscream!  I'll bet that's where he is!"  Evan sprinted out of the kitchen, shouldering past Pietro in the process.  "C'mon!  We'll cut him off before he does something stupid!"

"—Er."  Corrected Pietro as Evan disappeared into the hallway.  Turning his attention back to the kitchen, he saw Orroro rubbing her temples in distress.

"You too, Pietro?"  She asked without opening her eyes.

"Yeah," Pietro replied with mock cheer.  "Me too.  And just about everyone else in the Brotherhood.  Just so you know."

Orroro sighed.  "I need to go help Evan with the Professor.  Just…"  Orroro opened her eyes and gazed forlornly at the ceiling.  "If you want, you and your friend can stay here for a bit.  I'll try to explain what we know once I talk some sense into Charles…"  Shaking her head, Orroro walked past the two teens and down the hallway.

"Was **she** the one you came to talk to?"  Whispered Kagome as she watched Orroro depart.

Pietro snorted.  "No.  But what does that matter?"  Pietro moved to pull out a chair, but reflexively walked past the chair and sat down cross-legged on the floor next to the counter.  By the time he noticed this, he was already sitting down.  "It's not like anything else has gone as planned," he muttered under his breath.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then Kagome crouched down next to Pietro.  "PiaYetro…"  She began slowly.  "What exactly did you mean back there?  When you told that demon—"

"Nothing," Pietro interrupted.  "Absolutely nothing.  I hate him, he hates me, and just saying 'Yo mamma' wouldn't have had the same effect."

Kagome blinked.  "And when the chandelier blew up?"

"What about it?"

"You rescued me," Kagome whispered.

 "…Uh…"  Pietro abruptly noticed that several drops of perspiration convalesced on his forehead.  "…I did?"

"Hey!"  Interrupted a very gruff voice.  Pietro jumped up, and found himself face to face with a short, but heavily muscled man.  The intruder wore patches of techno-Nordic battle gear, and had cybernetic-wing like apparatuses attached to both arms.  The man had blue skin below the neckline, which was concealed by a sharp, angular beard.  The rest of the man's face was obscured behind a dark and vaguely Nordic mask.   "Not so close you two," he continued with a deep Scottish accent.  "We've got enough problems around here without any teenaged make-out sessions."

Warily eyeing the large guns that were attacked to the wings, Pietro nervously raised his arms in submission.  "Hey, we weren't doing anything.  Seriously," he stammered, trying to identify the voice.  "Honest.  I mean, you know me…"

The man stepped forward and brought his hand close to Pietro's head.  Abruptly, two claws shot out from between the man's knuckles, narrowly straddling Pietro's neck.  "Aye, **bub**, I do know thee.  That's why you get a **warning**."  Pietro swallowed, and the claws retracted with a metallic scrape.  "So, bub, just what were you two doing down there, that was so nice and innocent?"

Under the man's eyeless gaze, Pietro fidgeted.  "Oh, why, we were—"  Pietro's eyes suddenly widened.  "We were sitting on the floor!  Yeah, because we're Japanese, you know.  Yes, sir, just sitting on the floor…" Pietro dashed across the room and quickly rifled through the cupboards.  In a flash, he was standing back at Kagome's side.  "And just about to enjoy some rice cakes!"  Pietro pulled a rice cake out of the bag, sat down on the floor and began enthusiastically nibbling on the edge of it.

His expression unreadable, the man silently turned to face Kagome.

"Oh, of course," the girl chirped, backing away slightly.  "Rice cakes.  My fave…"  Kagome finished with a weak smile.

The masked man drew back and frowned.  "I don't buy it, but I don't much care."  With one last snort of disgust, the man turned to walk away.  "Just don't make me come back here, **bub**…"

"…Freak.  Out," repeated Kagome after the man had gotten a safe distance away.  "Do you really know that demon, PiaYetro?"

Grimacing, Pietro swallowed and dropped the rice cake on the ground.  "Yeah.  But believe it or not, he was a bit less threatening last time I saw him."

Kagome smirked.  "Oh, I believe you.  That's the first time I've **ever** seen you cower away from someone like that."

Pietro silently glared at Kagome.

"Oh, relax, PiaYetro.  It's not like I'm going to go blab it around the countryside."  Kagome got up and took the forgotten bag of rice cakes over to the table.  "Still…"  She gazed worriedly at the door the man walked out of.  "Do you think he'd really mind if I sit at the table?  Tile floor **is** kind of uncomfortable."

"…Yes, it is," replied a muffled voice.

Kagome looked back and noticed that Pietro was sprawled face down on the floor.  After a moment, she frowned.  "Oops."

"Yeah, '**oops**," muttered Pietro as he pried himself off the ground.  "As soon as I find whoever gave me this necklace, they are going to have a deep philosophical discussion with the sole of my foot!"

"Oh, **relax**," dismissed Kagome.  "There are worse enchantments to be under…"

Pietro very deliberately pulled out a chair and forced himself to sit in it.  "Yeah?  Like what?"

Kagome rolled her eyes.  "Well for starters, you could still be pinned to that—"

"**Gah**!"

Both Kagome and Pietro jumped at the sound of a nearby pounding.  Pietro quickly whirled around, and found himself facing a mid-sized blue pony.  The pony had a spaded tail, and had more animated proportions than any normal horse.  As he watched, the pony stomped its front hoof repeatedly against the ground.

"Since when do they let livestock in here?"  Asked Pietro.

The pony looked up at Pietro.  "Vel, normally ve don't, but…"  The pony trailed off with what passed for a shrug.  "Gah!"  It burst out, looking back to the ground.  "It's still moving!"  With renewed vigor, the pony stomped the ground again.

Turning his chair to the side, Pietro sat back down and leaned his arm against the table.  "Keep stomping if you want Kurt, but I've been trying to kill that thing all day and I haven't gotten **anywhere**."

The pony abruptly looked up.  "Oh!  It's yours?  Sorry about zat…"  The pony took a few steps back, and a black speck haphazardly bounded back to Kagome.

"You really asked for that one, Myouga," the girl quietly informed.

The pony gazed at Kagome for a moment, then back at Pietro.

"Not.  One.  Word."

Again, the horse tried to shrug.  "Vatever.  Say, you vouldn't have happened to see Logan pass through here, vould you?"

Pietro arched an eyebrow and pointed over his shoulder.

"Oh.  Thanks!"  With a slight shake of its head, the pony happily pranced across the room and ducked through the far doorway.  Pietro watched him leave through hooded eyes.

"He was kind of cute," observed Kagome.  Pietro glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes.  "Well you know, in that having-a-pet type of way."  Setting Myouga gently on the table, Kagome sat back in her seat.  "So what were we talking about, PiaYetro?"

"You were telling me about how things could be worse," Pietro drolly informed.

"Oh.  Right.  Well, you could—"

"Kagome," Pietro interrupted.  Kagome paused and gazed into Pietro's eyes.  "I believe you."

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	6. No Chapter Six

The planning room…

As he straightened the stack of papers in front of him, Professor Xavier glanced around the circular table.  To his right, Storm was resting her hand on her own small stack of papers.  To Xavier's left, Wolverine was leaning back in his chair, lazily eying the others under the brim of his hat.  Across the table, the Beast, Xavier's newest assistant teacher, was listening expectantly.  Xavier nodded to himself.  "Right.  Well, Hank, welcome to the faculty here at the Institute for Gifted Youngsters.  Before we begin, are there any questions for Hank from the other faculty?"

Wolverine raised his chin a bit.  Xavier nodded in acknowledgment.  "Are you a pofter?"  Wolverine asked.

"Are you a pofter?"  Repeated Xavier, directing the question at Beast.

Beast blinked.  "Uh, no."

"Good.  Well, with that concluded,  I'll ask Storm to please remind everyone of the faculty rules."

"Certainly," Storm cleared her throat and glanced down at the papers.  "Rule number one—"

"**No pofters**!"  Xavier, Storm and Wolverine declared together.

Taken aback, Beast blinked several more times.

"Rule number two;" Storm continued, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "there is to be no mal-treating of the students in any way…  If there's anybody watching.

"Rule number three—"

"**No pofters**!"  the veteran faculty said in unison.

Storm cleared her throat again.  "Rule four, now this term we don't want to catch anyone one the faculty not drinking.

"Rule number five—"

"**No pofters**!"  

"Rule number six;" Storm continued alone.  "There is **nooooooooooooo**…  Chapter six.

"Rule seven—"

"Wait" interrupted Beast, holding up his hand.  "No chapter six?"

Storm blinked a few times, and glanced back down at the rule sheet.  "…No chapter six," she confirmed.

Beast frowned.  "Then what are we doing here, then?"

In the silence that followed, all four staff members glanced around at each other.  At length, Xavier shrugged.

"Well if nothing much is going on this chapter," Wolverine began, breaking the silence.  "I'd really like to know what was going on last chapter."

Xavier nodded.  "As would I.  I confess it did seem a little…  Strange."

The Beast leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand.  "'Beyond the Pale,' if we dare pun."

Xavier raised his eyebrow.  "Storm, **did** we ever figure what was going on?"

Storm sighed.  "It took a while…"  The dark skinned woman began flipping through her stack of papers.  "But we did eventually figure everything out."

Wolverine grunted.  "So, spill it."

"Please," added Beast.

Finding the sheet she was looking for, Storm sighed again and pulled the sheet from the stack.  "Okay, on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim, there is an anime called _InuYasha_.  The show is named after its title character, InuYasha, a young half-demon.  The boy has a foul mouth, a short temper, and is rather self-centered and impatient."

"Sounds somewhat familiar," mused Xavier.

"You're talking Quicksilver, right?"  Questioned Wolverine

Storm nodded.  "Yes.  Right down to the silver hair, absentee father, and the sibling who wants his head on a platter.  But the clincher was the voice.  In the American dub, InuYasha is voiced by Richard Cox, the same actor who voices Quicksilver.  With all the similarities between them, the two characters just…  Merged, I suppose."

Beast frowned.  "Or, with apologies to John Edwards, he 'crossed over.'"

"That may be a more appropriate way to put it," Storm finished.  "Especially since members of InuYasha's supporting cast was dragged into this story.  Unfortunately, things only snowballed from there…"

Storm ran her finger down the page she was looking at.  "The voice actor for Sabertooth is Michael Donovan, who also voiced Wolf Bronski from _ExoSquad_.  It's a little known American Anime from the early nineties.

"Michael Dobson voices the Blob, as well as General Revil, and a whole bunch of other random characters on one of the those Gundum shows.  Could be _0083_, or maybe _Gundum Wing_…  He could have done work on both…

"Toad is voiced by Noel Fisher, who also voices Stan from _Hamtaro_."

The Beast frowned.  "Isn't that the show that was inspired by the Happy Hamster Dance?"

Xavier raised an eyebrow.  "Happy Hamster Dance?"

"Hamsterdance.com.  The original version."  The Beast shrugged.  "They've changed it now.  I guess you had to see it…"

Storm hook her head in bewilderment.  "I wouldn't know…  Moving on, Cyclops was 'crossed over' with Van Faulken, from _Escaflone_.  Both were voiced by Kirby Morrow, as well as having similarly convoluted pasts, families, and destinies.

"Beast, you are voiced by Mike Kopsa.  Mister Kopsa did voicework for _Jin-Roh: Wolf Brigade_."

"Eh?"

Storm shook her head.  "One of those dystopic near-future animes.

"Maggie Blue O'Hara is the voice of Shadowcat, as well as Holly from _Monster Rancher_.  Like Quicksilver, she managed to drag part of her supporting cast into the story.

"Venus Terzo is the voice of Jean, and she plays Black Arachnia in two Transformers series; _Beast Wars_ and the sequel _Beast Machines_."

Storm reluctantly turned her gaze towards Xavier.  "Professor, your voice actor is David Kaye, who has the misfortune to voice Megatron on the horribly inane _Tranformers: Armada_."

"My sympathies," murmured Beast.

"Logan," Storm continued, turning towards Wolverine, "your voice actor is Scott McNeil, who also does a slew of characters on the new _He-Man and the Masters of the Universe_.  The character you actually crossed over with was Stratos.

"Coming to the end of the list," Storm muttered, putting down the sheet of paper, "Nightcrawler is voiced by Brad Swaile.  Around the turn of the 90s Brad did a stint as Ace on the _My Little Ponies_ TV show."

Beast winced.  "Owch."

"Who remembers this kind of garbage?"  Asked Wolverine.

"A more reasonable question," Xavier cut in, "Storm, why didn't you 'cross over' with any other character?  It would seem only natural that you do…"

"Well, yes, it would,"  Storm rubbed the back of her neck uneasily.  "But as it turns out, my voice actor hasn't done any other voice work.  Just a handful of other live action stints.  Spyke, Avalanche, and Rogue are in similar positions."

"Ah…"  Xavier nodded understandingly.

The Beast chuckled.  "So I'll be you guys were really pulling for that fourth season, weren't you?"

Storm glared at Beast.

"Well," he corrected, raising his hands defensively, "it's not like I wasn't, either.  I mean, it is a pretty good gig."

"Until we have to put up with crap like this," Wolverine muttered under his breath.

"Every job has its hazards," soothed Xavier.  "But at least this one is over, Logan."

Silence fell over the room.

"Why did you have to say that?"  Wolverine wearily demanded.

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	7. Angel of New York

This probably pretty bad, but I just couldn't help myself!  I was watching _On Angel's Wings_, and…  And when Scott yelled out "Angel!"  …With those exact voice inflections…  I had to!

If you're not familiar with the _Phantom of the Opera_ soundtrack…  Well, then you should go **get** familiar with the _Phantom of the Opera_ soundtrack.  You'll thank me once you do.

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A December evening, New York City…

In a small coffee shop atop a three-story shopping center, Scott paid for a pair of drinks and carried them to a small booth next to the window.  He paused to watch a young couple happily come in from the outdoor balcony, and then sat down next to Rogue.  The dark haired girl looked up at his presence.  "So…"  He began, almost apprehensibly.  "What do you think of all this?"

"Ah think we're really getting somewhere," Rogue quickly replied.  "We've ah-lready talked to three witnesses and they've all given us the same description.  Ah think there's definitely something to this Angel rumor…"  Rouge paused to take a sip of her coffee.  "There's somebody out there…"

Over the café's sound system, a quiet orchestral tune lead by a soft piano began.

Scott seemed about to say something, but frowned instead.  "Hmm," he quietly murmured.

Lost in thought and looking out the window, Rogue missed his reaction.  "_Some-where, in this ci-ty, hee—eee's here, hiding.  Somewhere out thee-ere…  Wait-ting…  Aaa—aah only wi-sh we knew his secret.  Why is this guy, hide-ding_?"

Trailing off, Rogue looked back at her companion.  With his collar turned up and hugging his neck, Scott got up from the table and walked onto the balcony.  "Scott?"

When Rogue caught up him, Scott was silently staring out over the city.  "_I once believed in an angel…" Scott all but whispered__.  "I used to dream he'd appe-ar…  Now as I look through the shad-dows…"  Scott's head slowly rose as his voice gained confidence.  "_I just kno—ow hee—eee's hee—eeere... __

"_Somewhere, he's out there, glid-ding softly…  Somewhere out there...  Wait-ting…"  _Scott glanced over at Rogue with a pleading look on his face.  "_Something just tells me…  He is watching.  Waiting unseen…  A Guardian_..."__

Rogue strode forward in concern.  "_Scotty, you must have been dreaming_…"  Almost hurt, Scott turned away.  "_Stories like that just aren't true...  Scotty, you're listening to rumors..."  Rogue grabbed Scot by the shoulder and turned him to face her.  "A__nd it's noo--ooot lii—iiike yoo---oouuu…"_

Scott pulled away in defiance and pressed close to the railing.  "_Angel of Ne-ew York!  Spirit…  Watchman…  Lo-oking over the City!"  Scott paused for the briefest of moments__  "…Who is this angel?  This…_

Scott continued to stare off into the distance as Rogue stepped up beside him.  "_Angel of Ne-ew York…"  They called out in unison.  "_Hii—iide noo—oo longer!  Secret and straa—aange angel_…"_

Rogue trailed off, while Scott's expression became even more distant.  "_He's out there now…"  Scott continued, almost to himself.  "__He's watching…  Ev-ven now..."_

"Scott…"  Rogue put her hand over Scott's, trying to draw him from his daze.  "_Your hands are cold…_"

"_All around us..._"  

"_Your face, Scotty,_" Rogue soothed, tugging at his shoulder.  "_It's white_…"

"He's watching…"  Scott's voice trailed off into nothing.

"We will find him…."  Reassured Rogue, firmly grasping Scott's shoulder.

Scott's gaze lingered on the sky for a moment longer before glancing down at Rogue.

"C'mon, Scott,"  She said, her expression softening.  "We've still got a some people tah talk to…"  Draping his arm around her shoulder, Rogue slowly led a reluctant Scott back into the soft bustle of the night.

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	8. Dreamings in the Dark

The hanging infrastructure below Cloud City, Bespin…

With his slick black trenchcoat billowing in the high altitude winds, Sabertooth slowly advanced across the catwalk.  Holding his lightsaber loosely at his side, he stared seriously at the wounded fighter in front of him.  "Mystique never told you about your father, did she Kurt?"

Kurt panted hard hard, and desperately wrapped his tail tighter around the communications array.  He had already lost his only weapon, and his right hand in the process.  Now he could only hope to flee from the black-armored Jedi that menaced him.  "She told me enough!"  Kurt managed to spit out.  "She told me you **killed him!"**

Sabertooth paused.  "No, Kurt," he said condescendingly.  "**I** am your father."

Kurt lost his grip in surprise and tumbled to the base of the array.  With a horrified look on his have, he slowly backed away.  "No…  It's not true!"  Kurt violently shook his head in denial.  "**It's not true!"**

Sabertooth raised his right arm and displayed an exposed patch of skin.  "Look at my fur, Kurt.  Search your feelings for me and you will **know** it to be true!"  Slowly, he extended his arm and began approaching again.  "Join me, Kurt.  Join with me now, and together we shall rule this Galaxy as **father** and **son**!"

Laying on the catwalk, Kurt stared at the hand in outright horror.  Swallowing hard, he looked his father in the face.  "**Nooooo—_oooooooo_—ooooooooo…"  With a burst of desperate effort, Kurt lunged off the side of the catwalk and fell into the clouds below.**

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The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters…

"**Nooo**!"

Kurt hit the ground with a thud.  Breathing heavily, he pushed himself off the floor and found himself alone in his room, beside his bed.  With perspiration soaking his fur-covered skin, Kurt sat where he was until the last vestiges of the dream had faded.

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Midnight, Overlook Park, just above Bayville…

"Hello, Kurt," mumbled Scott as he leaned on a wooden fence and stared absently out over the city.

Kurt waved away the last of the brimstone smoke brought by his teleportation.  "Hey, Scott.  Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Noting at all…"

Silently, Kurt took a spot next to Scott, and the two boys gazed aimlessly over the horizon.

"Nightmare?"  Kurt asked at length.

Scott nodded.  "Mmh—hhm."

"Cloud City?"

"Mmh—hhm," Scott quietly replied.  "With Corsair.  'Join me, Scott, and together we shall pirate the galaxy as father and son.'"  Scott paused for a moment.  "Same with you?"

"Same with me," Kurt sighed.

The boys looked on in silence, and a slight breeze disturbed the leaves at their feet.

"Hey, Pietro," Scott hailed without changing his gaze.

"Scott," sullenly greeted Pietro as he took a spot on the fence.  "Kurt.  Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," replied Kurt.  "Nightmare?"

Pietro gazed forlornly over the city.  "Yup."

"Bespin?"  Asked Scott.

"Nope.  Ice Planet Hoth."

"Ice Planet Hoth?"  Asked Kurt, letting emotion slip into his voice for the first time.

"Ice Planet Hoth," Pietro confirmed.

Scott looked at Pietro, curious.  "What was so bad about Ice Planet Hoth?"

Noticing their interest, Pietro turned to face the two boys.  "The scene after Luke gets out of the Re-gen Chamber.  Where he was talking to Han and Liea." Pietro blanched at the memory.  "Wanda **kissed me.  On the ****lips…"**

"Doesn't sound that bad…"  Commented Scott, thinking of the dark haired teen.

Pietro scowled.  "It would if you were related!  Just picture you and Rogue."  Pietro turned to Scott.  "Or with **Alex**."

Scott and Kurt looked at each other and grimaced.  

After a pause, the three boys simultaneously heaved a sigh and resumed staring out over the city.

At length Kurt spoke up again.  "So if Wanda was Liea, who was Han?  Lance?"

"Nope," replied Pietro shaking his head.  "Clint Barton."

Scott frowned and looked over at Pietro.  "Hawkeye?  Then who played Chewie?"

Pietro blinked, caught off guard by the question.  "Tigra.  Hmm."  At the thought of the bikini clad catgirl, a smirk tugged at his lips.  "I guess it wasn't that bad after all."

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	9. Tribute

Now would be a good time to get on Kazaa, or to hit the music store, or to do whatever you've been doing, and search the listings for Tenacious D.  This is their Tribute…

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Outside the Bayville High recording studio…

"Todd, I…"  Nervously gripping the neck of his guitar, Fred Dukes paused at the doorway.  "I don't know if I can do this today."

"Yo, what'da'ya mean?"  Demanded Todd Tolanski.  Darting in front of the large boy, Todd put his hands firmly on Fred's shoulders.  "Man, I know you.  You are **so ready for this!"**

"But," Fred stuttered, "I'm just not sure."

"Fred," Todd insisted in a quiet, meaningful tone.  "You know you can do this.  You've lived your life for this.  For this **one moment!"  Todd's voice took on a forced bass.  "For this one moment when we walk through those doors and change **fanfiction.net history**!"**

Fred closed his eyes.  "I can do this."

"You can do this," confirmed Todd.  The two boys leaned on each other in a moment of silent band-member bonding before dramatically opening the door and stepping into the recording studio.

"Okay," came Beast's voice through the speaker system.  "They're here.  Starting the recording for Tenacious B, take one."

After a click and a slight pause, Forge's voice came over the intercom.  "Everything should be prepped and ready boys.  Go to it."

In hushed excitement, Todd and Fred settled themselves in the center of the room in front of a series of microphones.  Disregarding the stools provided for them, they raised the mikes, and put on the headsets.  With a series of quivering hand motions, Todd set the tempo.  As soon as he got the beat, Fred began picking the opening pattern on his guitar. 

Pressing his headset tight against his ears, Todd leaned anxiously closer to the mikes.  "This is the greatest, and best songfic in the world," he informed.  He paused for a second as Fred continued playing the hook.  "Tribute.

"Ya see a long time ago, me and my brother Fred, here," Todd flicked his wrist toward Fred.  "We were was hitchhiking down…  _A long, lonesome road_…"  A prerecorded western-standoff sound effect emphasized his remark.  "And then all of a sudden, there shifted a shifty shape-shifter.  _In the middle_…  _Of the road_…

"_And she _**_said_…"  Todd continued in a cracked falsetto.  "_Wri—ite the best songfic in the world…  Or I'll eat your soul._"  Todd paused and let the guitar line play for a moment.  "_So me and Fred…  We looked at each other.  And we both said_…"**

Todd and Fred looked at each other, to get the timing right.  "**_Okay_."**

With a triumphant smile breaking out on his face, Todd continued singing alone, while Fred played with renewed enthusiasm.  "_And we wrote the first thing that came to our heads and it just so happened to be—eee…  It was the best songfic in the world!  The best songfic in the wo-or-rld!_

"_Look into my eyes and it's easy to see; one and one make two, two and one make three.  It was destiny…  Once every hundred thousand years or so, when the sun doth shine and the moon doth glow and the grass doth gro—ow_…"

"_Oooh_…"  The end of the note modulated upward as Todd and Fred sang it together.

There was a slight pause as the guitar line modulated back to the opening pattern.

"_Needless to say…  The beast was stunned.  _**_A—Whip—Crack__!  When her greasy hair_…"  Todd leaned forward and grinned.  "_And the beast was done…  She asked us…"  _Again, Todd used his falsetto voice.  "_Hnk.  Be you humans_?"**

Todd reverted to his normal voice and Fred joined in.  "_And we said 'nay.'  We're both mut-tants_!"

Todd brought down his fist in righteous triumph as the duo continued.  "_Rock oooooo—ooo-aaoooa-ooaa-oooaa—ooooon!  Oo-o-o-ooh!  Wo-o-oaah!  O-oa-o-ooh_…"

"_This is not_," sang Todd as the tempo increased.  "_The greatest songfic in the wo-orld.  No.  This is just a tribute.  Couldn't remembe-e-er the greatest songfic in the wo-orld.  So!  This is a trib-bu-ute…  Oh…  To the greatest songfic in the world.  Oo—oh right…  It was the greatest songfic in the world.  Oo-ohoh ri-ight!  Duh-deh-duex-de-fuh-duex-feh to the greatest songfic in the world, Oi-right_!"

At a hand gesture from Todd, Fred silenced his guitar.

"_Flienh_!"  Sang Todd a capella style.  "_Flu.  Fleg-gah-feux-deux-flieng_!"

"_Hah_!"  Sang Fred in a counter-point falsetto.

"_Fla-b-deu-bu dah_!"

"_Hah_!"

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The control booth…

Beast's head slouched forward against the mixing panel.  "Don't they realize that doesn't across in text form?"

Forge looked on with a mixture of fear and fascination.  "Thank God for that…"

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The recording studio…

"_Fleh-guh-fah-gah-bah-deh-fease-duh-bier_!"

As the vocal solo ended, Todd danced backwards, banging his head to the rhythm.  In turn, Fred stepped up and filled in with a guitar solo, with a prerecorded drum line backing him up.

After a moment, Todd stepped back up and Fred resumed playing the background riff.  "And the peculiar thing was this my friends; the songfic we wrote on that fateful night; it didn't actually look _anything like this songfic_!"

"_This is a tribute_," Todd and Fred sang together.  "_You got-ta believe me.  And I wish you were there.  Just a matter of opinion.  Woah…  Oy yeah!  I'm so surprised to find ya can't stop ya yeah_…"

Fred resumed building to a massive guitar finish.

"_Aa--all right_!"  Interjected Todd.  "_All_…  _Ahh-all ri-ight_…"

Backing off, Todd let Fred go wild with the solo.  After fifteen seconds of fury, the solo began fading ended and Fred stumbled back against one of the unused benches.  He took a few seconds to steady himself and then slowly picked away one last haunting arpeggio.

With the last chords fading into silence, Todd looked up at the control booth.  "Cut, yo.  That's a wrap."

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	10. It's In the Air

Now seems like a good time to remind everyone of this story's rating.  Everyone here **is comfortable with PG-13 material, right?  Just making sure…**

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The Conservatory of the Xavier Institute…

Dressed in regular casual attire, several of the New Mutants gathered anxiously in the corner of the room.  Roberto and Amara were leaning on the back of a couch conversing quietly with each other, Jamie was standing next to Roberto, trying to listen in, and Samuel was leaning against a wall flipping disinterestedly through a magazine.  The hush dragged on.  At the sound of approaching footsteps, all four students looked up.

"Good day," greeted Bobby in a hushed tone.  He entered the room solemnly, and glanced at each of the four students in turn.  Finding them all in attendance, he nodded to himself.  Behind him, Jubilee and Ray followed wearing similar expressions.

Roberto pursed his lips, noting the other kids' expressions.  "Uh, hi.  You guys said you wanted to see us?"

Taking up a position in the center of the room, Bobby nodded.  "We did.  My friends, we have a problem.  We must do something about that problem, and we must do it now."

Frowning, Samuel put down the magazine.  "Is this about Rahne?"

"Yeah," commented Amara, with a touch of concern in her voice.  "She's been acting kind of strange lately."

"Real growly," Jamie added, nodding.  "An' she's been looking at us all funny, too."

"Yes," affirmed Bobby.  "This is about Rahne.  Her actions as of late have been unsociable, disruptive and—"

"Borderline freaky,"  finished Ray.

Bobby cocked his head to the side.  "Yes, exactly.  Anyways, Jubilee and I have been carefully observing Rahne for several days now.  We've discussed this at length, and we believe we have isolated the cause of her restlessness."

"Really?"

"Yes, Jamie.  We're afraid there is only one passable explanation."  Jubilee paused and gave a serious glance to the four students in front of her.  "Rahne is in heat."

The students looked on in silence.  Samuel shifted uncomfortably.

"We even called a vet," Bobby gravely continued.  "He agreed that Rahne is exhibiting all the classic signs of a dog in heat."

Samuel stuttered for a moment.  "Rahne is a human."

"Yes," replied Jubilee.  "But she's also a mutant, who turns into a dog.  And she still shows all the signs.  I hate to say it, but she's definitely in heat."

Jamie bit his lip.  "So…  What are we supposed to do about it?"

"The only thing we can do, I'm afraid."  Bobby closed his eyes.  "Jamie, Sam, Roberto, Ray; the five of us will draw straws.  Whoever draws the short straw—"

"Wait a minute," cut in Roberto.  "Five of us?  There are **seven** of us here."  Roberto made an offhand gesture towards Amara.  "There's no reason to be sexist about this.  The girls are just as capable of anything as we are!"

The room stared at Roberto after his outburst.  Amara's cheeks reddened.

"…Roberto…"  Jubilee eventually exclaimed.  "As much as we all appreciate your innocent naiveté…  Rahne is in **heat."**

"Yeah?"  Roberto meekly held up his hands.

The room continued to stare at Roberto.  Amara's cheeks turned a deep crimson.

"…And one of us has to help her out of it," finished Bobby.  "One of us **guys has to help her get it out of her system."**

"Yeah, but why does it have to be—"  Roberto cut himself off mid sentence.  "Oh."  He glanced over at Amara, who was red as a beet.  "Oh," he finished meekly.

"Right," Bobby exhaled in relief.  "Well, there's no point in delaying this.  Ray, if you would…"  Bobby stepped aside and gestured for Ray to move forward.

Ray stepped forward, tightly gripping five straws in his right hand.  Walking over to the couch, he grimly offered out his hand.  Jamie, being the closest, bit his lip and reached out.  After a moment's hesitation, he picked out a straw.

"Whoa," muttered Ray.  "Talk about anti-climatic."

Still biting his lip, Jamie held up the bent, inch-long straw.  The boy slowly turned the straw, examining it in shocked disbelief.

"Aw man," offered Samuel.  "I'm sorry, bro."

"Jamie," Bobby asserted, stepping forward.  "This task has fallen to you.  We know it is a difficult one, and we do not envy you for it.  But you must do, what you must do."

Jamie gulped, nervously.

Bobby placed his hands on Jamie's shoulders, as if in some sort of ceremony.  "Be strong, Jamie.  We all know that you can do this."

Jamie looked at Bobby and smiled weakly.  "Okay," he squeaked.  "I guess…"  Clenching the straw in his hand, Jamie slowly made his way out of the room.  The other students solemnly watched him leave.

  "Well," began Ray, after a moment of respectable silence.  "I guess that's that."  Walking over to the nearest trashcan, he threw the remaining straws away.  Four stubby inch-long straws fell from his grasp.

Roberto's eyes widened.  "You set him up!"  He exclaimed.

Ray looked over at Roberto and shrugged.  "Well…  Yeah."

Astonished, Roberto looked around at the others.

"Look," began Jubilee, "if this were Jean, we'd give you all a equal chance.  But with Rahne?"  Jubilee shuddered.

Smirking, Bobby hopped back and took a seat on a recliner.  "Besides, Jamie and Rahne?  They were meant for each other!  All we're doing is helping them along."

Roberto blinked in silence.

"They do make a cute couple," Samuel offered up.

"Yeah," agreed Amara.  "I guess they do, sorta…"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The locker rooms…

After a long solo session in the Danger Room, Scott let out a relaxed sigh as the hot water splashed down his chest.  "Mmmmhhh…"  He said as he watched droplets of water roll off the lenses of his glasses.  "Shower…"  Laughing to himself, Scott closed his eyes and continued to let the hot water run.

His relaxation was cut short when he heard the sound of someone running through the main locker room.  Scott frowned.  "Hey!  No running out there…"

There was no response, and Scott closed his eyes again.

Someone else scampered across the floor.  Scott heard someone yipe, and the sound of something banging into some lockers.  Groaning in frustration, Scott turned off the water, and reached around for his towel.

Half clad and still dripping, Scott walked out into the locker room proper.  "Okay, who—"  From behind a row of lockers, Scott heard something fall over, and then the hard slamming of a door.  "Whoever's there, you **should know the rules by now.  No clowning around inside, and especially not—"**

Rounding the corner, Scott cut himself off abruptly.  At the end of the room, Rahne, in werewolf form and dressed in her combat uniform, was untangling herself from an overturned cartful of towels.  "Rahne!"  Scott burst out.  "This is the **guys' locker room!  What are you **doing** in here?"**

At the sound of the new voice, Rahne looked up, startled.

"You know what," continued Scott, shaking his head.  "I don't care.  Whatever it is can wait until later.  For now you just—"  Scott tried to push open the looker room door, and found that it wouldn't budge.  "What the?"  Scott turned the handle, and shouldered the door a couple times.  "Someone locked us in," he muttered.  "Rahne, what were you…  Rahne?"

Crouched in the pile of towels, Rahne was staring intently at Scott.  Her nostrils were flaring, and she looked the boy over several times.  A low growl escaped her throat, and her muscles tensed.

Suddenly apprehensive, Scott took a defensive step backwards.  "Rahne?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside the locker room…

"Hurry!"  Encouraged Jamie as he held onto the chair he had propped against the door.  "Hurry—hurry—hurry—**hurry!"  The young boy received no answer except for renewed grunts of exertion.  "C'mon, you're almost there!"**

"Move the chair!"  Commanded another Jamie.  This one, along with two others, were bent over trying to carry a low bookcase in from the study.  Out of breath, the three multiples set the bookcase on the ground.

A muffled voice came through the door .  "Rahne, I really don't think that—" 

"Okay," agreed the boy by the chair after a moment.  Positioning himself to the side, he readied his grip on the chair.  "Go!"

"—Ey, don't touch that towel!"

Three Jamie's heaved and lifted the bookcase.  The lone Jamie quickly yanked the chair to the side.  The three boys shuffled towards the door, dropping the bookcase as soon as they could go no further.  They spent the next moment panting, while the lone Jamie peeked between the bookcase and the wall.

"Rahne, please listen—"  

"Good job!"  Jamie congratulated.  "It's leaning on the knob."         

Sounds of a struggle echoed through the wall. 

"Now lets go get that couch," added one of the panting boys.  "Just to be sure."

Nodding, all four boys ran down the hall. 

The door shuddered twice, but didn't give.

Moving much quicker than before, the four Jamies shuffled back down the hall and wedged the couch next to the bookshelf. 

Something tumbled against the towel cart.

"Well boys," began one of the boys.  "Mission completed!"

"Yeah…"

"Aw-right…"

"—Regret this in the morning!"

Nervously, the forth boy glanced at the blockaded door.  "…But, I think we'd better stay out of Scott's way for a while…."

One of the Jamies bit his lip.  "Your probably right."

"We should avoid both of them," added another Jamie.

"Maybe a week?"

"I'm serious!  Whatever you're thinking, this'll still considered statutory—_Mhugh_!"

"Maybe longer," concluded Jamie, as his multiples nodded.  "Lets go."

The four boys quickly ran off, leaving only the muffled sounds of a one sided struggle and an occasional contented growl to echo through the walls.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	11. The Brighter Side

Another songfic, folks.  The scenario for this one just fit too well for me to pass it up…  Closing song to Monty Python's 'Life of Brian.'  You know the drill by now. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Area 51… 

"This…"  With despair etched across his face, Evan Daniels pressed against the glass wall of his containment cell.  Stationed all over the room beyond, armed guards were standing at the ready.  The center of the room contained a glassed off research center, where Wolverine was laid across and strapped down on a cross-like medical table.  The restrained mutant was struggling sporadically, and both doctors and guards were bustling around him.  The outer wall of the room was bordered by holding cells similar to the one Evan was in.  In various cells, he could see the Beast, Rogue, and the Blob.  Evan frantically shook his head.  "This just **can't** be happening!"

"Ah, cheer up Evan."

Evan pulled back with a start.  "Who said that?"

"Just me, Evan," replied the crackly voice.  "Over here.  I'm Morph.  Guess we're neighbors, now, eh?"

Pressing his face against the glass, Evan tired to look at the cell next to him, and was barely able to make out a figure.  Catching his glance, the figure waved.  Morph was a white male, about 5'-8" with athletic build and greenish brown hair, and was dressed in a bright blue and yellow jumpsuit.

"So, you're a mutant, eh?  Where brings ya here?"  Morph cordially continued.  "Don't normally get too many visitors coming to see me…"  Morph laughed at his own joke, causing Evan to flinching away.

"The government captured me," Evan dryly informed.  He gestured across the room.  "And some of my friends.  A Sentinel blasted us."

"Oh, I know that feels," responded Morph, letting the words roll of his tongue.  "Kinda sucks, doesn't it?  But hey, it means I get to see Rogue again!  And Logan!  Boy, I've missed those guys…"

Evan blinked, shocked at Morph's lighthearted tone.  "What are you saying?!"  Evan pounded on the glass wall in frustration.  "How can you sound happy about this?!"

Leaning against the wall of his own cell, Morph smirked.  "Ah, lighten up Evan.  You know what they say…"

As Morph trailed off, some opening notes from a piano played through the cell's intercom system.  Evan glanced around in surprise.

"_Soooome things in life are bad_," continued Morph, almost casually.  "_They can _**_really__ make you mad…  Other things can make you swear and curse…  When you're chewin' on life's gristle, don't grumble_," Morph paused for a moment.  "_Give a whistle.  And this'll_…"  Morph's voice grew stronger as he drew out the last words.  "…_Help things turn out for the bee—eeest_…"**

Evan stared out his cell in disbelief.

"_And_…"  Morph paused for the briefest of moments, before the piano quickened its tempo and jumping into the main rhythm.  "_Alwa-ays look on the brii—iiight si-ide of life_."

A guard standing near Evan's cell whistled a counterpoint melody.  Evan stared.

"_Always look on the li—ight side of life_…"  Continued Morph, not missing a beat.

Several more guards joined in whistling the counterpoint.

"_If life seems jolly rotten, then there's something you've forgotten_…"  Morph let his voice bounce over the words.  "_And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing…  When you're feeling in the dumps, do-oon't be silly, chumps!  Just purse you lips and twittle, that's the thing…_

"_And…"_

"_Al-ways looks on the bri—iight si-ide of life_," sang Morph and several nearby guards.  The counterpoint was whistled by nearly every guard in the room.

"C'mon," encouraged Morph, noticing that Evan wasn't joining in.

"_Al-ways looks on the bri—iight si-ide of life_."

The whistled counterpoint line dominated the room.

"_For life is quite absurd_," continued Morph after the refrain.  "_And death's the final word.  You must always face the cur-tain with a bow…  Forget about your sin, give the audience a grin_!"  Morph made gestures and winked at Evan.  "_Enjoy it, it's you last chance in the house…_

"_So_…"

The guards again joined in for the refrain.  "_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of death_."  In the center of the room, Evan saw Wolverine whistling and nodding his head to the rhythm.  "_Just be-fore you draw your ter-min-al breathe_…"  Evan looked up and saw that the other incarcerated X-Men had also joined in.

"_Life's a piece of shit_," flatly stated Morph.  "_When you look at it.  Life's a laugh and death's a joke its true_…"  The mutant smiled and pointed towards Evan.  "_But you'll see its all a show, keep them laug-hing as you go.  Just remem-ber that the last laugh is on yoo—oou_…

"_And_…"

"_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of life_…"  A violin elaboration of the counterpoint line played through the intercom.  "_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of life_…"  Evan stared blankly out his cell as the room bobbed their collective heads to the whistled counterpoint.

The music modulated slightly.  "_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of life_," the chorus repeated, slightly louder.  The counterpoint followed.  "_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of life_…"

"Come on Evan," commented Morph during the counterpoint.

"_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of life_…"  The counterpoint was whistled as usual.  Morph joined back in the chorus for a line.  "_Al-ways look on the bri—iight side of life_…"

"Hey, you still got a few good scenes, right?"  Suggested Morph, grinning to himself.

Evan stared blankly as the rest of the room continued mindlessly repeating the chorus,

"I mean, what can you loose?"  Continued Morph.  "You were based on nothing, you'll go back to nothing.  What've ya lost?  _No-thing_!"  Finished Morph before Evan could respond.  "Nothing will come from nothing, you know…"

"I must have gotten a concussion," concluded Evan.

  Morph laughed.  "Aw, cheer up you old bugger.  C'mon, give us a grin…"

Evan glanced around the room, wondering if he was loosing his mind.

"There you are!"  Finished Morph, misinterpreting Evan's action.  "See?  In the film!"  Morph cocked his head to the side and started talking to no one in particular.  "Incidentally, his story is available on DVD.  Yeah, Mutants Rising, you know…"

Morph glanced back at Evan  "Hey, how much are you getting paid for that?  Percentage?  Cut of the net?"

Evan leaned his head against the front of his cell in resignation.

"Hope you are," continued Morph, speaking quietly now.  "'Cause you'll never see money from anywhere else.  Well, maybe you'll get a figure cut, but they'll never put you in the comics.  Keep you out of the movies too…"

Morph sighed as the rest of the room continued singing.  "Not that the comics matter now much anyway.  The top ones are only selling what?  Hundred thousand?  Hundred-ten?  They'll never make any money off that.

"I tried to talk to the Editor-In-Chief the other day," continued Morph, regardless of the fact that Evan had long since ceased listening.  "'Joey,' I said to him, 'you'll never make any money that way.  You've got go back to the newsstand.  That's the only place new readers are…'  He didn't do anything though.  Just looked through me, like I was just some half-bit character rambling on about not being used enough…"

Evan began bashing his head against the wall, and continued doing so until the music faded away…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	12. South Bay

The street side… 

Standing in four inches of old snow, the Brotherhood of Mutants were patiently waiting for the bus.  Fred Dukes was standing to the far right, next to crosswalk sign.  The big man was dressed in brown coveralls, with a red heavy coat, and wore a blue wool hat with yellow trim.  Next to him stood Lance Alvers, clad in his usual jeans, brown jacket and a darker blue hat with red trim.  Todd Tolasnki stood next in line, wearing an orange parka with its hood pulled tightly over his face.  Rounding out the group stood Pietro Maximoff, who had donned an off-orange jacket and a green winter-cap with earflaps.

"Okay."  Yelled Lance, loudly yet without much emphasis.  "Great take guys.  Well done.  Let's cut camera and print that…"  Keeping his voice level, Lance quickly strode across the street towards the film equipment.

Fred blinked.  "But…  We just—"

"Yeah, well, we did enough.  End of chapter.  Everyone who **can** get the joke already **has**.  No point in wasting any of their time rehashing tired routines."  Lance reached the camera and knelt down beside it, anxiously looking past the side of the screen towards the controls.

"_Mhay, mym bmmyh_—"  Todd angrily pulled the hood of his parka off his face.  "I can barely talk in that thing, yo…"  Todd wiped his mouth and then hopped into the street after Lance.  "Wha' you talking about, Lance?  The whole point of doing these it to—"

An SUV bearing a FoH bumper sticker barreled down the street.  Todd was a smear on the road before he even registered its presence.

Fred's mouth fell open.

Pietro's eyes became as wide as saucers.

In the rapidly diminishing SUV, several people cheered and tossed empty bottles out the window.

"**_OH MY GOD_**_!!!_"  Shrieked Pietro.  "**They killed _Todd_**_!_"

Lance raised his arm in a threatening gesture.  "You **BASTARDS!"  Turning back to the others, he continued in a normal voice.  "I told you."**

Fred fell to his knees beside the remains of his friend.  "Oh, Todd…  Todd…"

"This can't be happening…"  Pietro's hands quivered even more than his voice.  "This just can't be **happening!"**

Lance knelt back down.  "Didn't I tell you?  End it now before we do any of the routines.  But did you listen?  Noooo-_ooo_-ooo…"

Fred began weeping uncontrollably.

"Maybe we can get him to a hospital!"  Pietro continued, having completely freaked out.  "A hospital can put him back together!  Not a normal one…  Not a safe one…  But there's gotta be **some** hospital that can put him back together!"

"There," muttered Lance, as he reached past the side of the screen.  "Finally.  This scene is o—"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	13. Sing it Loud

All characters and events in this chapter--even those based on real people--are entirely fictional.  All personalities have been simulated.....Poorly.  The following chapter contains coarse language, and due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Okay, it's not really quiet that bad, but it could have been.  After seeing the final chapter on-screen, I did decide to edit it down.  I can probably thank Sawnya from the VALL web-forums for that…  But this chapter is still pretty inappropriate.  You'll feel dumber for having read it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don't say I didn't warn you…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The cafeteria, noontime… 

The Bayville High commons, as it often was, was packed.  Save for the foolhardy souls who dared to brave the parking lot, the entire student body was milling about.  The jocks were clustered around the a la cart line, the fashion girls were lingering under the north skylight, the preps occupied two tables along the hall entrances, the musicians claimed the three next to them, the drama crowd found themselves uncomfortably wedged between the jocks and a table of sullen trench-coated Goth-holdouts, while the techies had grabbed the center of the commons for themselves, devoting one table for spectator chess, another for cards, and a full two tables for a round-table debate about whether _Babylon 5_ was or was not the most kick-ass television show of all time.  Other non-aligned cliques claimed tables around the center, using the techies' proximity to define an informal neutral ground.  In the background, a recording of the most recent choir concert was played over the school speakers.  

In the midst of such chaos, a lone boy picked his way to his designated table.

"Ah!"  Loudly proclaimed Kurt, as he dropped a cardboard basket on the table.  He promptly slung his backpack over a chair and took a seat.  "Lunch!  My favorite meal of ze day!"

Scott and Evan, who were already sitting down, stopped eating and stared at Kurt.

"How can you call **that** a meal?"  Asked Evan.  "Three slices of Pizza?  That's **school cafeteria** pizza, Kurt!"

"And fries!"  Responded Kurt, happily pulling a wad of napkins out of his pocket.  "Can't forget about the fries."

Scott shook his head and continued peeling the orange he had brought from the mansion.

Evan stared blankly.  "Kurt, I can see through that cardboard.  There's seriously **that **much grease in there."

Kurt flashed Evan a grin.  "Ah, you're just jealous that you're stuck eating boring old sandwiches…"  After a quick laugh, Kurt grabbed the first slice of pizza and began chowing down.

Evan watched Kurt eat with a horrid fascination usually reserved for train wrecks.  After a moment, he looked down at his own sandwich and grimaced.

Scott continued to casually eat his orange.

"How can you still have an appetite after seeing him eat like that?"  Asked Evan out of the corner of his mouth.

Scott leaned closer to Evan.  "What makes you think I'm **seeing** anything?"

Evan looked over at Scott.  The boy smirked, but his eyes remained completely invisible behind his sunglasses.  Evan started grumbling and forced himself to continue eating his sandwich.

Just as Kurt was starting on his second slice of pizza, the music was abruptly cut off.  Several mechanical thuds were broadcast, and the chatter of the commons quickly died down.  With his mouth still full of food, Kurt joined the rest of the students in looking expectantly at the speakers.

"Ahem," a voice began.  There were brief sounds of a microphone being adjusted.  "That was the Bayville High _Singers_' performance of…  Ah, I don't know.  Something in Greek."

"Latin," a voice corrected.

"Toad and Alvers," observed Evan.  "This can't be good."

Scott scowled.  "Bet Dukes is there, too…"

"Latin then," finished Lance Alvers.  "And now, a very special performance by the Men's Harmonic Glee Club.  Today they will be singing…  Kurt's Mom is a Stupid Bitch."

Kurt's eye's widened, and his mouth fell open.

"In D minor."

There was a slight pause, during which kids at nearby tables stared at Kurt in curiosity.

A long kazoo note was played to set the tune.

"_Wee—eeel_…"  Alvers held the note until the kazoo cut off.  When it did, he proceeded at breakneck tempo.  "_Kurt's mom's a bitch!  She's a big fat bitch.  She's the big-gest bitch in the whole wide world!  She's a stupid bitch, if there ever was a bitch.  She's a bitch to all the **boys and **girls****_…"

Kurt let out a whimper.

The kazoo hit a quick two notes and a toy piano joined in.

_"On Monday she's a bitch.  On Tuesday she's a bitch.  From Wednesday through Saturday she's a_—"

"**Alvers**!  **Tolanski**!"

The music abruptly cut of as several people could be heard barging through a door.

A girlish screech echoed through the commons.  "It's Mr. **Hale**, yo!"

"Dukes!"

"Why, Principle Kelly!"  Stuttered Lance.  "What're you—"

"My office, Alvers," the principle yelled.  "**Now**!  Tolanski, Dukes, you too!"

"Hey, why d'we have ta—"  Another girlish scream cut off Todd's whining.

"I'm going," a new voice meekly agreed.  "Just getting my other kazoos…"

"Keep moving…"  Warned the deep voice of the school's senior janitor.

There were a few sounds of the microphone being adjusted again.  "Please excuse this interruption, students.  We will get back to the _Singers_' performance shortly, as soon as we deal with some technical and…" Kelly's voice trailed off for a moment.  "**Other** difficulties…"

"I told you we shouldn't have done this live," muttered Lance, right before the mike was cut off.

For a moment, silence hung over the commons.  Then a jock laughed, signaling the return to normalcy.  Within moments, the interruption was forgotten.  

By most students, at least.

"Uh, look, Kurt…"  Evan frowned, not quite sure what to say.  "Nobody's going to take those guys seriously."

Kurt didn't respond.  He didn't even move.  With his head facedown on the table, and his arms wrapped defensively around his head, he refused to acknowledge anything in the outside world.

"Really," Evan reassured.  "No one!  And besides, they aren't getting away with anything!  The Brotherhood got caught, and now they're going to get **punished**."

Kurt remained motionless.

"But not for lying…"  Scott added under his breath.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	14. WWNDD

Time to get on the 'net again.  This time, try to find _What Would Brian Boitano Do_? From the South Park: The Movie soundtrack.  Uh, I haven't seen the movie itself, but the individual song is pretty cool.  It lends itself nicely to the characters. 

Don't worry folks, it's mostly clean.  And this is the _last_ of the South Park chapters…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Bayville football field… 

Standing on the sidelines, Mister McNeil raised his hand to signal the beginning of Marching Band practice.  After a few quick hand motions to set the tempo, he bought his hand down on the downbeat.  The horns immediately launched into a triumphant opening, with the snares backing them up, and everyone else waiting in the ready.

Also set into motion by McNeil's gesture, Samuel, Roberto, and Tabitha, all in civilian garb, raced across the field.

"_What would Nathan dayspring do_?"  Sang Samuel as he darted in front of Roberto.  Roberto slowed up, and Samuel let his momentum carry him a few steps backwards, never missing a beat.  "_If he were here right now?  He'd make a plan and he'd **fol-low** through_!"  Samuel balled his fist and slapped it in his palm for emphasis.  "_That's what Nate Dayspring would do_."

"_When Nathan Dayspring was in Greymalkin, He called a bo-dy-slide_…"  Sang Roberto, picking up the tune.  "_He came down to Earth and **saved** us all!  Not even Dani died_…"

Tabitha stood on the first row of the bleachers, shouting to the world.  "_When Nathan Dayspring was out in space, fight-ting off the **Brood**, he used his magical Prim-mi-star, and saved the Queen—Shi'Aa—ar_!"  Tabitha put everything she had into the last note, causing both Samuel and Roberto to wince away.

Tabitha jumped down and the boys quickly shook it off.  "_Oh, what would Nathan Dayspring do_?"  They sang to each other, standing in a circle.  "_If he were here today?  I'm sure he'd kick an **ass **or two_!"  Samuel and Roberto backhanded each other's arms in celebration.  "_That's what Nate Dayspring would do_."

"_I want a costume just for of me_…"  Yelled Tabitha, stepping away from the group.  "_Some-thing showing more than black spande-ex_…"

Roberto stuck his hand in his pockets and looked to the sky.  "_And I just want Fer-ral, to stop sniffing everyone_…"

Samuel stepped forward and put his hands on Tabitha and Roberto's shoulders.  "_For you guys I'll be lead X-Force, too, 'cause that's what Nate Dayspring would do_!"

"_What would Nathan Dayspring do_?"  They sang together.  "_He'd get all the kids ar-round, and get us all walk-ons in X-Men II.  That's what Nate Dayspring would do_!"

The kids broke off and jumped onto the bleachers.  As they danced their way up, the band filled the interlude with a brief horn riff.

The three kids reformed near the top of the bleachers.  "_When Nathan Dayspring traveled through time, to the year four-thousand ten_," they sang, looking back down at the band.  "_He fought the evil Ap-po-co-lypse!  And saved the human race a-gain_!"

Tabitha got down on one knee and threw out her arms.  "_And when Nathan Dayspring at-tacked the pyramids, he beat up Kublai Kahn_!"

Samuel and Roberto stepped together behind Tabitha and joined in  "'_Cause Nathan Dayspring doesn't take shit from an-ny_—"  Roberto tried to sing "_one_," but had to break off when Tabitha and Samuel decided that "_bod-dy_," rhymed better.

Roberto shrugged.  Tabitha jumped to her feet and the three kids leaned closer to each other.  "_So lets get all the kids together, in time to de-feat Stryfe!  And we'll get Siren and Rictor, too, 'cause that's what Nate Dayspring would do_!"

Breaking out of the group, the trio proudly marched the rest of the way to the top of the bleachers.  "_And we'll get Siren and Rictor, too_," the repeated, letting each word drag on.  Reaching the top, Samuel jumped onto the first bar of the safety railing and leaned out.  Tabitha and Roberto flanked him, remaining standing on the seats.  Together, they all threw out their arms for the finale.  "'_Cause that's what Nate Dayspring woo—oouuld doo—ooo_…"

The cymbals smashed, and the kids balled their fists and raised them triumphantly.  "'**_Cause that's what Nate Dayspring would do_**!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	15. MMT3K

_In the not so distant future,_

_Next Saturday, A.D._

_There lived a kid named Sco-ott,_

_Not too different from you and me._

_He went to a school, called Bayville High._

_Just another kid, with his head in the sky._

_He often wore a smile ac-cross his face,_

_But Ms. Darkholme didn't like him so she shot him into spa-ace_…

(Get…  Me…  Down…!)

"_I'll send him cheesy fanfics!_

_The worst…  I can find_!"

(_La la la_…)

"_He'll have to sit and read them all,_

_And the mon-niter is mine_!"

(_La la la_…)

_Now keep in mind Scott can't con-trol _

_Where the fanfics begin or end._

_He'll have to keep his san-ni-ty_

_With the help of his mut-tant friends_

(_Mut-tant roll-call_…)

_Cerebro_  (On line!)

_Cyclops_  (Why me?)

_Night-Crawler_ (Vas?)

_And Spyyyyyyyyyke_  (Oh, great…)

_If you're wondering how they eat or breathe,_

_Or if the fourth wall gets some cracks,_

_Just repeat to yourself 'it's just a fic.'_

_You should really just re-lax._

_And read Mystery Mut-tant The-ater Three Thou-sa—and_…

**Guitar Twang**

(5)

[4]

{3}

/2\

1

'0'

The AoL…

As the door sequence ended, the screen focused on the bridge of the AoL.  The background consisted of a bulkhead with a vault door in the center of it, and a counter with a primitive looking console stood in the foreground.  After a moment, Scott Summers, clad in his usual preppy slacks and sweaters, stepped into the center of the screen.  "Hello, everyone," he addressed, "and welcome to the Asteroid of Love.  Everything's pretty quiet right now, so…"

Scott trailed off.  After a moment, he glanced to his right.  Finding nothing, he checked left, and then glanced behind him.  "Huh," he muttered to himself.  "That's usually somebody's cue to interrupt…"

Shaking his head, Scott returned his attention to the screen.  "Well, as I was saying, it's been pretty quiet around here.  Mystique has been hitting us hard with the fanfics lately, which has taken most of the fight out of Kurt and Evan.  The last few have been especially rough.  Three weeks ago she gave us one of 'those three years' DBZ stories, then after that it was G-Gundum mech-lemon, and just last week we had to screen…"

Off-screen, Scott was interrupted by an electronic whine.  The whine built to a head, then died down as quickly as it began.

Scott frowned, shrugged, and looked back at the screen.  "Well, we spent pretty much all of last week going through a Yu-Yu-Hakusho original-character epic.  Kurt and Evan took it pretty hard, and haven't been…"  Again, Scott trailed off.

Kurt, sans his image inducer and wearing a blue jumpsuit with a tech-belt around his waist and a boxy piece of machinery on his back, stalked onto the screen.  In his hand, Kurt held a small device with several moving antennas sticking out the end.  The device let out a metallic whine, which modulated according to whatever Kurt pointed it at.  Evan followed Kurt at a short distance, wearing a similar looking green jumpsuit and equipment-laden belt.  Evan had his right hand in his pocket, and had a bundle of red cloth under his left arm.  Kurt approached Scott carefully, holding the device out in front of him.  The whine twittered then rose in frequency.

"What are you doing?"  Scott asked, warily eyeing the device.

"Scanning for PKE," Kurt drolly informed.

Scott took a defensive step back.

Kurt nodded sharply, and switched the device off.  The whine instantly died, and antennas folded down.  "He's good," Kurt informed Evan as he hooked the device onto an attachment on his belt.

Evan smiled and tossed his bundle towards Scott.

Scott neatly caught the bundle.  "Uh, guys, what—"

"You're PKE reading is strong, Scott.  Ve both believe you have what it takes!"  Kurt grinned.  "Ve'd like you to join us!"

"PKE?"  Asked Scott, raising an eyebrow.

"Psycho-kinetic-energy," Evan proudly informed.

Scott was not reassured.  "And…  What about it?"

Evan grinned.  "A strong KPE reading means you have lots of spirit awareness, Scott.  And that qualifies you to become a Spirit Detective!"

Scott's face fell.  "Guys…"

"So, having both been officially licensed ourselves," continued Kurt, "Ve'd like to help train you in the vays of the Spirit Detective."

"In doing so, we're offering you a job a full-time employee of our new company…"

Scott rubbed his temples.  "Kurt, don't you think—"

In unison, Kurt and Evan turned to the side and displayed a red-and-white insignia patched onto the shoulder of their jumpsuits.  "The **Ghostbusters**!"

Scott raised his head, and arched an eyebrow.

Kurt and Evan continued grinning.

Scott glanced at the screen.  "We'll be right back," he informed.  Scott tapped a button on the console, and the screen cut to the MMT3K bumper.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

X-Men: Evolution on DVD!

_Volume 1: Mutants Rising_!  Featuring UNCUT versions of _Growing Pains_, _Power Surge_, _Bada-Bing Bada-Boom_, and _Fun and Games_!  What could possibly have been cut out from a Saturday morning cartoon show?  Find out here!  Features the introductions of Principle Kelly, Hank McCoy and the New Mutants, and the Brotherhood of Bayville's boarding house!   The second season starts here, with four episodes for only $14.95.  

Hey, it's a better deal than **most** animated shows…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

comicsontheweb.com

T-1 line or a 56K modem, high resolution or low, black white inks or full color, English, Spanish, or even German…  The entire line of CrossGen comics are on-line, and costumizable.  The titles cover genres ranging from sword-and-sorcery, to sci-fi, to Victorian mystery, to oriental martial arts, to horror to…Well, I'm not sure what the heck _Negation_ is considered, but it's really cool.  First issue of every title is free for the viewing.  Subscribe for two bucks a month, and get everything else.  250 issues and counting!

Because lets face it: Evolution may be the only X-Men worth spending time on, but comics are still cool…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"…And this is your ghost trap," continued Kurt, showing off a device attached to his tech belt.  "Ze cord connecting the trap to the controller is held by this strap here.  And the controller itself…"

"I didn't ask 'what,' Kurt," muttered Scott, now dressed in red jumpsuit that had 'Summers' emblazoned on patch on the chest.  "I asked 'why.'  As in 'why on Earth would you cross Yu-Yu-Hakusho with Ghostbusters?'"

"Ze **Real **Ghostbusters," Kurt corrected.

"Why on Earth wouldn't you?"  Evan countered.  "I mean, YYH is practically RGB re-incarnated!

"How?"  Scott deadpanned.

Kurt rolled his eyes.  "Vell, zey both star four people…"

"…Dressed in matching color-coordinated jumpsuits…"  Continued Evan.

"…Fighting the supernatural…"

"…While bickering amongst themselves…"

"Ze both take orders from an eccentric, wild haired girl."

"And both teams have an even wilder haired guy—"

"Enough!"  Scott threw up his arms in exasperation.  "Okay, so there are a few surface similarities…"

Kurt grinned.  "More zan just a **few**, Scott…"

"Whatever," muttered Scott before Kurt could go on.  "So how come you're wearing a proton pack and Evan isn't?"

"'Cause he doesn't need one."

"Yeah," continued Evan.  "I have my own way to beat up uncooperative spirits."

"How?"  Scott asked before he could stop himself.

Evan grinned.  "With the…"  Evan jumped backwards and struck an amateurish martial arts pose  "**Spirit Staff**!"  A six-foot long bone quarterstaff shot out of Evan's wrist, and was neatly caught by the boy.  Evan whirled the staff around a few times, and struck an even sloppier pose.

Scott buried his face in his hand.

"See, Scott," informed Kurt, oblivious to Scott's dismay.  "All Spirit Detectives have ze're own signature spirit attack.  Evan has the Spirit Staff.  I am armed vith…"  Kurt reached back and pulled a photon pistol out of the base of his backpack.  "Ze **Extreme Spirit Gun**!"

Scott didn't even look.

Kurt happily holstered the pistol.  "I also have ze Spirit Shotgun," Kurt pulled the primary blaster off of his proton pack.  "Just for emergencies."

"From the PKE reading we took earlier," lectured Evan.  "We figure you've got the potential for a pretty big spirit weapon.  Possibly even the fabled Spirit Optic Blast."

Scott stared at Evan for moment.  His gaze shifted to Kurt.  Scott shook his head and sighed.

"Oh, look," Evan drolly observed.  "The dofus duo is calling."  Evan reached over and tapped a flashing red light on the control panel.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique stood behind a control panel of her own, with her arms crossed in annoyance.  "Well, if it isn't Slimer, Zoul, and the Sandman…  Enjoying your little playtime?"

TV's Fred stood beside Mystique, looking on in earnest.  "Ooh!"  Fred waved his hand in the air in a desperate bid to get attention.  "Can I join, too?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"Sure," dryly responded Scott.  "We'll send your jumpsuit down as soon as we scrape together a few square miles of fabric."

Evan snorted.  "An' we'll teach you how to use your special Spirit Fart."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

TV's Fred looked hurt.  "Gu—_uys_…"

"Can the chit-chat, you Bozos," interrupted Mystique.  "I'd like to get on with today's experiment sometime while it's still **today."**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"Well, that makes one of us," muttered Kurt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique's face darkened.  "Do you **want** me to go back to sending you MediaMiner.org stories?  If you don't, I would suggest you begin your presentation for today's Mutant Exchange."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"All right…"  Muttered Kurt.

Evan nervously tugged at Scott's jumpsuit.  "Uh, guys, actually…"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

"Aw, what's wrong?"  Mocked Mystique.  "Did our little Spirit Detectives forget to 'detect' a new mutant?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

Scott snorted.  "Not likely.  In fact, we'll even go first."

Evan's eyes widened.  Before he could say anything, Scott walked off screen to fetch the display easel.  Evan looked helplessly at the screen.  Scott quickly walked back on screen, and began setting up the visuals.

Kurt began the presentation, oblivious.  "Vell, for our new original character, ve've decided to look to our own for inspiration.  Specifically, at the original concept designs for—"

"Evan!"  Cried Scott in dismay.  He frantically gestured to the oversized artist pad, which was lying on the ground beside the easel.  "What the heck is this?  You were supposed to draw out the concept sketches!"

Kurt looked back in curiosity.

Evan coughed.  "Yeah, well…"  Evan broke off and continued in a whisper.  "I don't draw very well."

Scott pointed to the ground in dismay.  "**Very well**?!  Evan, you drew a stick figure!"

"It is not!"  Cried Evan.  "It's just…  Not very well rendered…"

"Zat's our character?"  Asked Kurt.  "I thought that was the sheet where you tested za colors on."

Still shaking his head, Scott looked up at the screen.  "Uh, Mystique, we're going to need a moment here…  How about you guys go now and then we'll—"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

"Fat chance, Slym!"  Mocked TV's Fred.

Mystique smiled wickedly.  "Oh, but you simply **must **continue…"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"Vat do ve do?"  Whispered Kurt.

Scott glanced around nervously, then ripped the offending page off the artist pad.  "Stall," he informed, tossing the sheet away.  "I'll try to sketch something out."  Scott quickly darted off screen.

Kurt glanced nervously at Evan.  "Vell, ah…"

Evan cleared his thoughts with a quick shake of his head, then leapt right into the explanation.  "If you look at some of the early Evolution promo art, they draw me looking like some sort of armadillo.  Well, this got us thinking about what **other kinds of odd animals we could base a mutant off of…"**

Scott darted back on screen with a handful of Prisma markers, and knelt down beside the artist pad.

"One of ze first animals we came up with," lectured Kurt, continuing the thread.  "Vas, of course, ze kangaroo."

"Naturally, our new character would be a girl," continued Evan.

"Naturally," Kurt agreed.  "All new characters worth following are.  And, ve naturally decided to make out girl Australian.  Not a heavy accent, but just enough of one to give her zat, cheerful, happy-go-lucky Outback flair."

Scott shifted positions and continued sketching furiously.

Evan didn't dare glance down to check on the progress.  "Now, to avoid the worst of the clichés, we decided to forgo giving our girl any sort of jumping power.  Or any enhanced strength or love of fisticuffs."

"Ve vanted to go for that whole good-girl feel," Kurt continued.  "So ve only gave her two kangaroo based traits.  First, ve did give her a light fur coat."

"Delicate red, almost a light brown.  And a tail," Evan added.

Kurt gave an earnest grin.  "Vat can ve say?  People love ze tails…  Her second trait is zat she has a large pouch.  On her back.  Goes right across her shoulder blades, and extends halfway down."  Kurt turned to the side and half-heartedly traced out a pouch.  

"It's not where kangaroos have their pouches, but it's a move we all agreed on.  A back-pouch is far more functional than a forward one.  And, uh," Evan trailed off, for a moment.  "Well, putting the pouch on her chest would have opened up possibilities that we just didn't want to get into."

"Vell," Kurt reluctantly conceded, "At least not for a family story—"

"**There**!"  With an artist's pride, Scott abruptly stood up.  He dropped his remaining markers on the floor, and set the artist pad neatly on the easel.  Kurt and Evan looked back, and their eyes widened.

The drawings were done in the typical comic style—black ink outlines of various thicknesses, with color filling in the figure.  The color was mostly flat, never more than a base color and a shade line, and quickly sketched in with the fashion-concept flair.  Minimal crosshatching was used, mainly to convey emotion or expressions.  On the right side of the page stood a young girl, roughly 5'-4", with pale skin, and blue eyes.  She was a bit long in leg, and wore a half-thigh skort, no socks and some tennis shoes.  She complimented the look with a pink top with a short V-neck.  The girl wore a pair or stud earrings, a hairband, and had a short bushy crop of strawberry-blond hair, which she wore in a pony tail and bangs.  Next to the first drawing was a ¾-back shot of a similar sized girl.  The second model was reddish colored, with a 'brushed' coloring that was intended to indicate fur.  The girl wore a black one-piece swimsuit with a very low cut back, which prominently displayed her back pouch.  A slender prehensile tail tipped with a blond puff-ball fell from the small of her back.  Around the perimeter of the page were sketched heads of the girl in various emotional states.  None of the head-shots were colored.

"Okay," began Scott, wringing his hands together.  "Here's a pretty rough concept model for our Mutant Exchange.  This is Stephanie Kannon, age sixteen, hailing from a small town along Australia's East coast.  We've got the shot on the right showing her in civilian gear, and with her image inducer on.  The shot on the left shows her in, well, more beach-wear than combat costume, but it still shows her natural form, and you can get a decent idea of how her pouch works.  I put in a few head sketches, but they're still somewhat crude."

Kurt and Evan stared in awe.

"That's crude?"  Stuttered Evan.

Scott frowned and took a step back.  "Well, mostly its just sloppy.  I could probably have done better if I didn't have to rush…"

"Zat's sloppy?"  Kurt echoed.

"Okay, I guess it's just a little stylized," Scott conceded.  "Like a cutesy version of Salvadore Larocca's stuff.  I really pictured her with more of Joe MAD flair, or maybe a bit of Jim Lee…  But I suppose it might work for Evolution."

"'Stylized' my shorts!"  Said Evan as he pulled his gaze away.  "I couldn't draw something like that if my life depended on it!"

Scott shrugged.  "You pick these things up when you've been around a while."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

The hearts were almost visible above TV's Fred's head.

Mystique balked.  "You designed a Popple."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

Scott, the only one not staring at his drawing, scratched his head.  "Uh, no, we were actually thinking of calling her 'Pouch.'"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique shook her head.  "Forget it.  You're creation has been mildly amusing, but I'm sure you'll find her nothing compared to my half of the Mutant Exchange…"  Mystique grinned triumphantly.  "Fred!  Get the portrait!"

TV's Fred continued to stare at Stephanie.

"**Fred**!"  Mystique whacked her assistant on the head for emphasis.

Fred slouched his shoulders and quickly hurried off screen.  "Right, right…"  He muttered.

Mystique launched into full megalomaniac mode.  "While you peons have once again gone the petty route for your half of the exchange, **I have created **my** mutant for true greatness."**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"Wow," interrupted Evan.  "Hope you don't choke on all those prepositional phrases."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood.

"Do not mock me," growled Mystique.

TV's Fred walked back on screen pushing a large wheeled easel, with a tarp obscuring the drawing.

Mystique unceremoniously yanked the tarp off.  On the canvas as an Alex Ross style painting of woman.  She stood a good 5'-10", with jet black hair tied down in a ponytail.  The woman wore a leather jacket, a short black skirt, and knee high stiletto boots.

"This is Dona Major!"  She proclaimed.  "A psi.  She is strongly empathic, and has the ability to project her emotions and desires onto others."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"A psychokinetic telepath," stated Scott.

"A psychopath," Kurt concluded.

Evan shrugged.  "Well, write what you know, I guess…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

"Be silent!"  Yelled Mystique.  She took a moment to calm herself before she continued.  "If you would actually take a moment to think about my creation before spitting out your inane comments, you would appreciate its genius.  Dona can project her emotions onto other characters.  She can project her **desires onto others.  Her powers are more instinctual than conscious."**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

Evan shook his head.  "'Inane' is all I'm thinking."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique angrily pounded on the canvas for emphasis.  "Can't you morons see?  She is the perfect vehicle for a Mary-Sue!  The world bends to suit her needs!  What she feels, all the others feel!  What she wants, everyone else wants as well!  She believes the world revolves around her and everyone around her will agree emphatically!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"You punched a hole through your painting," observed Kurt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Standing next to the canvas, TV's Fred nodded.  "Yeah.  Right through the head…"

Mystique looked back at the ruined painting and scowled.  "Oh, who cares?!  It's not like these peons could appreciate it anyway.  Take it away, Fred!"

At Mystique's order, Fred sullenly wheeled the painting off stage.

Mystique took on a satisfied air as she watched him depart.  "Well," she began, "I'd say I won that round of our Mutant Exchange.  Wouldn't you agree?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

Scott shook his head.  "No."

"Nuh-uh," agreed Kurt.

"Mary Sues are generally considered to be bad things," finished Evan.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

"When I want you're opinion," Mystique glowered, "I'll give it to you."  Taking a moment to calm herself, Mystique laid her hand on a CD that was sitting on the console.  "Well," she continued.  "With the Mutant Exchange out of the way, it's time to begin today's experiment.  Trust me, you'll enjoy this one.  You're finally going back to Bayville!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"**Whoo**-**hoo!"  Kurt threw up his arms in celebration.  "No more anime!  Bite my tail, Toonami!"**

"Kurt…"  Evan whined, nudging the boy in the ribs.  "Shhh!  We're trying to get **on Toonami…"**

Ignoring the others, Scott frowned.  "I think I actually prefer **not reading bad stories about myself…"**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique grinned wickedly and held up the CD.  "Well, then, my dear Summers, you won't be disappointed.  Today's experiment stars a **new** character.  A nubile, British, fire-starting you girl.  You'll be reading Nightclub Flower, and follow our new girl through her **many adventures as she finds out about herself, her powers, and her emotions.  Particularly as they vacillate between a young speedster and a certain blue furred son of mine…"**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

Kurt whimpered.  Evan patted him on the back in weak sign of reassurance.

"Do you're worst," Scott bravely defied.  "You won't break us."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique leaned forward.  "We'll see.  But by the twenty-fifth chapter you might just be wishing our new girl had set **your face on fire."  Mystique laughed.  Holding up the disk she continued "Fred!  Send them the fic."**

A tall man in blue-flack armor and an eye-patch walked on screen.  He plucked the disk from Mystique's hand before she had even noticed him.  "That won't be happening," the man dryly informed.

Mystique whirled at the sound of the new voice.  "Who are you?!"  She demanded.

The man with the eye-patch paused, and pulled the toothpick he had been chewing on out of his mouth.  After a short pause, he responded in a clipped, militaristic tone.  "Nick Fury.  Agent of X.I.N.G."

Mystique's face contorted.  "Where's Fred?  And just what do you think you're—"

Putting the toothpick back in his mouth, Fury snapped his fingers.  Several armed guards stepped on screen, pointing assault rifles at Mystique.  The woman stepped back instantly.

"This ain't no public chat-room," Fury informed, a hint of anger in his voice.  "This is private website.  You're a guest here.  And we've got rules for you guests…"

Mystique glanced back and forth between fury and his guards.  "I—" She stuttered.  "I don't know what—"

"Can it, lady," Fury cut in.  "The rules are posted.  If you don't bother readin' 'em, it** your problem.  Unfortunately, your ignoring them makes you ****our problem."  Fury stalked past Mystique, daring her to move.  "Y'see, a couple o' those rules are about what you **can** and **can not** post on this site.  MiSTings are clearly labeled as entries that **can not** be posted.  Number 4 on the list.  Pretty hard to miss if you had bothered to actually read the rules."**

Fury stood right in front of Mystique, banishing the CD in her face.  "You get permission to do this?  You gunna take responsibility if the author thinks this is violating their rights?  You gunna listen to them complaining?"  Fury snapped the disk in half.  Tossing the remains aside, he gestured to his guards.  Two of them obediently placed some high-tech restrainers on Mystique.

"Wait!  You can't—"

"You wanna do MiSTings," Fury continued, "that's fine by me.  Just post' 'em elsewhere.  Website Number 9.  The SVAM vault.  MediaMiner.  Wherever.  But you try to post 'em here…"  Fury paused, and chewed on the toothpick for a moment.  "You post 'em here, then I gotta ban ya."  Fury tossed the toothpick to the side.  "Bring 'er along, boys."

As the guards grabbed her shoulders, Mystique began struggling viciously.  "No!  Stop!  You can't—"

Fury cast an annoyed glance back.  "And keep her quiet…"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"  Interrupted Scott.  "Mister Fury, sir…  Can we say a few things before you go?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Arching his one good eyebrow, Fury held up his hand.  The guards paused, and forcibly turned Mystique towards the screen.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The AoL…

With Kurt and Evan closely flanking him, Scott twitched his hand several times.

"_Nah-nah-nah_!  _Nah_!"  The boys simultaneously burst out.  All three of then thrust their hips mockingly to the side.  "_Hey_!  _Hey_!  _Hey_!"  The boys threw their hands forward and waved.  "_Go-od By—ye_…"

"Good riddance!"  Yelled Evan, waving around a few triumphant gestures.

"Please forget to write!"  Added Kurt.

Laughing wildly, Scott's voice picked up an unnatural base.  "Chapter 13 was right!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Brotherhood…

Mystique began twitching with rage.

Fury gave a bemused snort.  "Take her away," he ordered to his soldiers.  Fury took one last look at the screen, and tapped a red button on the main console.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	16. Dreamings in the Day

The hanging infrastructure below Cloud City, Bespin…

With his slick black trenchcoat billowing in the high altitude winds, Sabertooth slowly advanced across the catwalk.  Holding his lightsaber loosely at his side, he stared seriously at the wounded fighter in front of him.  "Mystique never told you about your father, did she Kurt."

Kurt panted hard, and desperately wrapped his tail tighter around the communications array.  He had already lost his only weapon, and his right hand in the process.  Now he could only hope to flee from the black-armored Jedi that menaced him.  "She told me enough!"  Kurt managed to spit out.  "She told me you **killed him!"**

Sabertooth paused.  "No, Kurt," he said condescendingly.  "**I am your father."**

Kurt lost his grip in surprise and tumbled to the base of the array.  With a horrified look on his face, he slowly backed away.  "No…  It's not true!"  Kurt violently shook his head in denial.  "**It's not true**!"

Sabertooth raised his right arm and displayed an exposed patch of skin.  "Look at my fur, Kurt.  Search your feelings for me and you will **know it to be true!"  Slowly, he extended his arm and began approaching again.  "Join me, Kurt.  Join me now, and together we shall rule this Galaxy as **father** and ****son!"**

Lying on the catwalk, Kurt stared at the hand in outright horror.  Swallowing hard, he looked his father in the face.

"No Kurt…"  Interrupted a booming voice.  "**I am your father…"**

Sabertooth whirled around, while Kurt crawled to the side to get a better view.  Standing defiantly at the other end of the catwalk, was none other than Victor Von Doom.  The despot was completely encased in polished chrome armor, and had a jet black cloak billowing in the wind behind him.

Kurt's mouth fell open.  "Va?"

"What do ya mean 'your son?!'"  Sabertooth spat out.  "Kurt is my boy!"

Doom's expression was lost behind his steel mask, but his voice carried all the emotion that was needed.  "Spare me your pathetic claims, you overgrown mongrel."

Sabertooth snarled at the insult.  "Mongrel?!"

"You could no more be the boy's father than you could spell your own name," continued Doom as if Sabertooth hadn't spoken.  "You lack all but the most rudimentary requirements necessary for the position."

"Hey!"

Doom began walking meticulously forward.  "Your combat experience is limited to fighting a handful of pathetic mutants, and your strategy consists of nothing more than grunting and charging.  You could not hope to wield a sword, and you wouldn't know a TIE Fighter if one fell on you.  Even the most disciplined underlings could only stand your putrid countenance for so long before breaking ranks and fleeing your overpowering stench."  Standing face to masked face with Sabertooth, Doom paused.  "You are only half clad.  You are not fit to play this part.  You lack armor.  And more importantly," Dooms voice deepened, proving once again that nothing was impossible for Doom.  "You lack** honor."**

"Oh, yeah?"  Mocked Sabertooth, tapping his claw against his brow.  "Well I also lack a little, incey-binsey scar on my face.  And the stupidity to slap a mask of molten iron on my head."

As the two Jedis faced off, Kurt slowly pulled himself back to his feet.

"Kurt is **my** son," continued Sabertooth, completely unintimidated.  "**I slept with Mystique."**

"The highpoint of your pathetic existence, I'm sure," droned Doom.  "You think that giving her one son means you gave her both.  Your logic is as foul as your stench.  The whelp Grayden Creed is a powerless grunt.  A no-count, capably only of leading the unfocussed rabble who call themselves the Friends of Humanity."  Doom sidestepped his feral adversary, gesturing his hand towards Kurt.  "**My** son's powers are manifold.  Speed.  Agility.  A prehensile tail.  Transdimential travel.  The ability to blend in with the shadows.  He is a marvel among marvels."  Doom trailed off, returning his gaze to Sabertooth.  "Only my genes could sire such a child…"

Sabertooth snarled.  "Bah.  You're not even German."

"Nor are you," came Doom's cold reply.  "You are Canadian.  I am of Latvia.  A Baltic people of proud history and noble **Teutonic heritage."  Doom paused, and his voice dripped with disdain.  "It is ****French blood that runs through **your** veins…"**

Sabertooth's crimson lightsaber flared to life.  "He's my kid, tin man, and if you've got a problem with that—" 

Doom silently raised his right hand, bearing a lightsaber with a deep green blade.

With the hum of lightsabers drowning out the wind, both combatants moved grimly forward.

Kurt stared in dumbfounded confusion.

"Kurt!"  The sound of his name pulled Kurt's attention away from the fight.  Blinking in surprise, he turned around and found the Millennium Falcon hovering only meters away from the communications array.  The Falcon rotated slightly, and Kurt caught sight of Princess Rogue standing in the open entry hatch.  "Jump, Kurt!"  Called out his sister, gesturing furiously.

Taking one last look at his dueling fathers, Kurt shrugged helplessly, and leapt into the breach.

Rouge caught her brother and quickly hauled him up the ramp and onto the main hold.  "Ah've got him," the princess called out, still supporting Kurt.  "Close the hatch, Rahne!"

The feral wolf-girl growled in acknowledgment, and turned her attention to a nearby control panel.  The hatch doors quickly began closing.

Still stunned, Kurt let Rogue shuffle him up to the bridge.  "But Rogue, how did you—"

"No time for questions, Kurt," Rogue interrupted.  "Scott!"  She called ahead.  "We've got him!"

Kurt blinked.  "Scott?"  Still reeling, he darted past Rogue and into the bridge.  As he supported himself against a bulkhead, he gaped in astonishment.  "But Scott…  You vere in Carbonite!"

From the pilot's chair, a scruffy looking Scott Solo looked back and grinned.  "Yeah…  Well, the Carbonite didn't agree with my glasses.  They cracked, my optic blast cut loose, and I just blasted my way out from there."

With Rogue once again by his side, Kurt shook his head.  "But…  The bounty hunter…"

"Toast," supplied Evan Calrisian, who was seated in the copilots seat.  "A little **mis-placed paperwork kept him here just long enough from me to blast him.  Scotty here finished the job."**

"You blasted him?"  Corrected Scott with quiet sarcasm.  "You **missed.  **I** was the only one who actually blasted him."**

"Just like you were the only one who didn't cheat in that card game," muttered Evan as he flipped on the intercom.  "Rain-nie!"  He ordered.  "Load up rear torpedo tubes five and seven, quant—"

"Hey…"  Interrupted Scott as he slapped Evan's hand away from the controls.  "**I'm the captain on this boat, ****I'll give the orders."  After a slight pause, Scott raised his voice.  "Rahne!  Load rear torpedo tubes five and seven, quantum charges."**

Rahne growled an inarticulate affirmative.

Glancing back at the two passengers, Evan rolled his eyes.

Kurt blinked.  "Vat's going on here?"

"Take a seat, kid," Scott advised as he leaned over the controls.  The Millennium Falcon backed up, and dropped in altitude.  As it did, Kurt caught a glimpse of his two fathers still dueling on the catwalk.  After a moment's delay, the Falcon's engines flared to life.  Scott smiled wickedly and leaned forward against the throttle.  The Millennium Falcon powered away from the catwalk, shooting out two torpedoes as it left.  The catwalk exploded with a burst of plasma.  Secondary explosions ensued.  

"Wah—Hoo!"  Scott yelled.  "Lets **blow** this joint and **go home**!"

As the Falcon pulled out of the atmosphere, the explosions built to a head, and Cloud City was ripped asunder by a massive fireball.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Papa Dominique's Pizzeria…

"…**Home style diced potatoes?  On a Pizza?"  Scott Summers shook his head in wonder.  "I gotta try that."**

"Four Pepper Surprise," read Evan Daniels.  "With Tabasco sauce optional.  Is this place cool or **what**?"

Rogue smirked.  "Ah told ya.  The diced lemon chicken is good."

"Only with peppers," retorted Evan.  "Ooh!  Diced **Cajon chicken!"**

Hanging on Scott's arm and in full human form, Rahne Sinclair squealed.  "They give you cheese options for the stuffed crust!  Provolone, Swiss, or Co Jack!"

Scott smirked.  "Hey, there's rice on the veggie pizza.  We could put that with the lemon chicken…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…"  Muttered Evan.  "Am I reading this right?  You can replace the tomato sauce with **barbeque sauce?!"**

Rogue's eyes widened.  "You wouldn't…"

"They do," confirmed Scott, an amazed smile forming on his face.  "And I will if you will!"

"Barbequed anchovies," suggested Rahne, licking her lips.

"Barbequed meat lovers," countermanded Scott.  "Sausage, bacon, and **shrimp**."

"Then throw in that lemon chicken," mused Evan.  "And black pepper…"

Rogue's jaw dropped as she saw the day's special  "**Jalapenos**…"

Rahne growled expectantly.

"Oh yeah…"  Mused Evan.

With a grin spread all across his face, Scott glanced to his side.  "Hey, Kurt, you're pretty quiet over there.  What'ch thinking?"

Blinking away the last remnants of his waking nightmare, Kurt stared at the menu in abject horror.  "Ahh…"  Kurt quickly shook his had and suppressed a shudder.  "How about ve just get a pepperoni?"

The others looked at Kurt for a moment, and then collectively shrugged.

"Nothing wrong with old-school," Evan conceded.

"But make it half-chicken," added Rogue.

Rahne looked pleadingly at Scott.  "And stuffed crust!"

With mock bravado, Scott strode forward and slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.  "**Large Pepperoni!"  He loudly declared, ignoring the look the cashier was giving him.  "**Stuffed crust** with **Co Jack**, half**** lemon chicken, and ****cover it with ****black peppers, my friend!"**

"Sure thing," the petite cashier raised an eyebrow as she jotted down the order.  She gave Scott one last look before shuffling off to the chef.  "It'll be about fifteen minutes…"

Scott walked back to his friends and received a high five from Evan and Rahne, and an amused look from Rogue.  Only Kurt remained subdued, still staring at the horrific menu, and dreading the convoluted nightmares that lay in store for him…

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	17. King of Bayville

Right now, I want you to get up, turn off the computer, go to the video store and either rent or buy the movie Newsies.  Do not look for the songs on Kazaa or take any other shortcuts.  You need to watch.  That.  Movie.

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The Bayville Mall…

The electric doors of the department store slid open, giving entrance to Lance Alvers, Tabitha Smith, Fred Dukes, Todd Tolanski, and Pietro Maximoff.  All five kids wore their usual civilian garb.  Tabitha was displaying several plastic cards, and along with Lance seemed to be leading the group.

"I still don't know about this," whined Fred as he looked over Tabitha's shoulder.  "I mean—"

Tabitha interrupted Fred in her usual manner.  "Mean what, Freddy?  We've struck it!  Why **shouldn't** we?"  The blond happily threw up her arms for emphasis.

Off to the side, Pietro cautiously regarded the Brotherhood's new addition.  "Fred's got a point, Lance.  Those cards aren't ours.  They're Mystique's.  If she finds out…"

As the group continued walking, Lance darted out ahead and walked backwards.  "How many times do I have to say this?"  He asked with his arms slightly away from his side.  "Mystique is gone.  She's not going to find out."

"Yo, but she is alive!" Countered Todd.  "And you were the one who said that himself!"

Lance shook his head in mock disbelief.  "Well, yeah, she's out there, but she's not coming back.  If she were, she would have by now!"

Fred put his hand to his chin.  "Yeah, but—"

"And if she _doesn't_ come back, who pays for those?"  Pietro continued.  "If we were short on cash before…"

Lance slowed his pace, and let the others catch up.  Casually, he threw his arm around Pietro's shoulder.  "Petey.  Buddy.  You get to the mail before any of us.  Have you **ever** seen a bill come to our place?  **Ever**?"  Lance gave the boy a rough squeeze, causing Pietro to quickly dart away.  Lance only smiled.  "They're gunna be paid for!"

Todd frowned.  "Yeah, but what if she—"

"What are you boys **worrying** about?"  Demanded Tabitha.  Grabbing Todd by the collar of his shirt, she pulled him near and waved the cards in front of his face.  "He just said things have always been paid for," she continued in a low, tempting voice.  "And even if they're not, it's not going to get traced back to us…"

A smile slowly formed on Todd's face as the sight of the plastic drove his worries away.

Releasing Todd, Tabitha looked slyly at the other boys.  "We've got five credit cards here…"  Walking as if entranced by a dance, she stepped into the first big crossroad in the department store walkway. "And no one watching over our shoulders…"  Fanning out the cards in front of her, Tabitha grinned wickedly.  "Just **think** of what we could get…"

Feeling the mood overtake him, Todd stepped forward and grabbed a card.  "_A pair o' new shoes with matchin' la-ces_…"

Looking back at the others, Lance casually picked a card of his own.  "_One of those shirts with the snar-lin' fac-ces_…"

"_That old CD by Mr. Mis-ter_…"  Sang Fred, finally given the confidence to go along.

The fourth card disappeared from Tabitha's hand.  All four kids whirled to their right to See Pietro standing on a pedestal with his arm draped across the waist of a scantly clad blond mannequin.  "**_A Saturday night with Black-bolt's sis-ter_**!"

Lance and Fred playfully pelted Pietro with a couple of wadded up shirts.

"_Look at me_!"  Proclaimed Todd, sliding in front of the pedestal and falling down to one knee.  "_I'm the king of Bay-ville_…_  Sud-den-ly!  I'm respectable_…"  Todd inched his way back upright with each syllable.  "_Starin' right at 'cha, lousy with stature_…"

Lance lightly cuffed the back of Todd's head as he walked past.  "_Nobbin' with all the muckety-mucks.  I'm blowin' my dough and goin' de-luxe_!"  Lance twirled his card during the line and clenched it tight to emphasize the last beat.

"_And here I be_!"  Yelled Tabitha, darting up beside Lance.  "_Ain't I pretty_?"

Lance favored the girl a smile as they paraded down the isle.  "_It's my city_," they sang in tandem.  "_I'm the King of Bay-ville_!"

All five kids sprinted down the isle and dispersed at the end.

With a chip on his shoulders, Pietro walked past the shirt racks.  "…_A new tank top ta make the girls go wi-ld_…

Across the way, Lance was checking out some hampers.  "…_Some-thing to clean where my clothes are pi-led_…"

With half hooded eyes, Todd browsed through a display of baseball caps.  "…_Cust-om hats that're made ta' or-der_…"

The four boys stepped back onto the main walkway.   Lance and Fred both had some clothes draped over their shoulders, and Todd tossed each of them a hat he had grabbed.  Snatching his in midair, Pietro glanced at the still-shopping Tabitha out of the corner of his eye.  "…_An of-ficial welcome to our new board-der_!"

Pietro disappeared in a flash, and Tabitha appeared a half-second later, with a bright red sheet draped across her shoulders.  

"_Tip your hat_!"  The boys declared in unison, kneeling before the girl in mock devotion.  "_She's the queen of Bayville_!"

Tabitha cheerfully grabbed the sheet and tossed it away.  "_Aw, screw that_!  _I'm the** king** of Bay-ville_!"

Back on their feet, the boys continued singing and meandering back into the displays.  "_In not-thin' flat, we'll be lookin' like some-one on GQ.  Wait'll they see you_…"

Twirling a new hammer around in his hand, Pietro jumped up onto the top of a jacket display.  "_Pull-lin' our old wreck out of a crunch_!"  With a flourish, Pietro tossed the hammer to Fred, who stuck it in a tool-case he was looking through.

"_Shop-pin' for a week_," continued Tabitha as she draped another shirt over her arm.

Todd hopped through Tabitha's line of sight.  "…_And pickin' up **lunch**_…"

Tabitha rolled her eyes, but took the hint.  "_When I'm ar-round, stores will put out_…"

Standing in the main isle, Lance gestured to the other boys.  "_Time ta check out_…"

Tabitha smirked as she fell into step beside Lance.  "_I'm (she's) the king of Bay-ville_!"

The kids hit the register simultaneously, dropping their items as a single load.  The Cashier blinked once, and promptly went to work.

"_I gotta be eith-ther dead or dream-min'_," sang the five, in a drawn-out, quiet tone.  "_'Cause look at this card with numbers gleam-min'_!"  _A credit check just won't de-mean it_…"  As their voices built to a head, the five kids collectively thrust up their cards.  "_'Cause we were rich for **one** **whole minute**_!"

The register beeped, displaying the first total.  Fred made a big show of handing his card to the cashier, who quickly swiped it.  The big man signed the receipt, and then hefted the now full tool-chest over his head.  In celebration, he pumped it a few times, one-handed.

The register beeped again, prompting Todd to casually flicked his card the Cashier's way.  The card went horribly wild, and forcing the girl to leave the register to get it.  Undaunted, Todd jumped onto the counter and grabbed his bag.  After a few pseudo-dance twirls, he leapt again and bounced off a few nearby displays.

Tabitha leaned forward and swiped her own card as the Cashier rung up the next total.  At the Cashier's dirty look, Tabitha blew the girl a mock-kiss.  Tabitha grabbed her own bag, whirling it around like a sling.  After getting slightly dizzy, she tossed it up, letting the contents spill down on top of her.

Sneering, the cashier hit the next total. Picking a cowboy hat off of a nearby rack, Lance swaggered up to the counter and politely handed the girl his card.  However, the Cashier waited before running the card, and pointed towards Lance's new hat.  Feigning surprise, Lance tipped the hat.  When the Cashier continued to glare at him, Lance flipped the hat off, made a quick show of rolling it down his arm, and then planted the hat neatly on the Cashier's head.  Taking his card out of her hand, he ran it himself, grabbed his bag and spun away.

The Cashier angrily set the hat on the display of her register.  She turned to ring up the final order, but found her counter empty, save for five signed receipts.  Glancing up, she saw Pietro flashing her a smile, saluting, and twirling his card in his hand.  The boy tossed the card into the air, rushed forward and ruffled the Cashier's hair, and darted away, catching the card as it came down.

With their bags flinging around them, the five kids exploded out of the department store and into the mall proper.  "_Startin' now_!"  They yelled, hitting various poses as the other mall-goes turned to look.  "_I'm the king of Bay-ville_…"

Tabitha smirked and waved at the onlookers.  "_Ain't ya heard_?  _I'm the king of Bay-ville_…"  Snapping her finger for emphasis, Tabitha pointed to the second floor promenade.

"_Holy cow_!"  The guys continued, matching her gaze.  "_It's a mic-acle_!"  As the crowd parted, Fred and Tabitha began ambling over to the main staircase.  "_Magnus is cryin'_…"  Shouldering his bag, Lance hoped the side-rail onto the down escalator, and began speudo-moonwalking in place.  "_Raven, she's dyin'_!"  Todd hopped up rocks in the central fountain display, while Lance jumped rail again onto the up escalator.  "_Flapshots are shoot-tin' bright as a the sun_!"  At the second floor, Lance jumped the rail again, and Pietro appeared at his side.  Across the way, Todd leapt off the peak of the rock toward the promenade walkway.  Leaning over the railing, Pietro and Lance both caught him by his outstretched arms.  "_I'm one high**falutin**' son-of a gun_!"  With a flair, Pietro and Lance yanked Todd upward, letting him front-flip onto the walkway.

The three boys flicked their hair in unison, and sauntered toward the staircase.

Meeting Tabitha and Fred, they meshed together to reform their ranks.  "_Don't ask me how, for-tune found me.  Fate just crowned me.  Now I'm the king of Bay-ville_!"

The kids turned a corner, entering the food-court wing of the mall.  "**_Look_**_ and **see**_!"  Obediently, the crowd did so, parting before the advancing quintet.  "_Once a gru-unt, now up fro-ont_!  _I'm the king of Bay-ville_."

With the food-court consisting of a big looped promenade with an open atrium below, the kids immediately came upon a T-intersection.  Darting forward, Pietro jumped onto the railing and threw his arms outward.  "**_Vic-tor-ry_**!"  Everyone in the food-court and all shoppers on the ground below paused to look at Pietro.  "_That's out story_!"  Todd clung to the railing to Pietro's right while Lance jumped onto a chair to Pietro's left.  Fred and Tabitha took positions flanking them.  "_Guts and glory_!"  The kids finished, letting their vices fill the court.  "_I'm the **king** of **Bay-ville**_!"

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	18. YARTLTF

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A Study room in Bayville High…

Lance Alvers and Pietro Maximoff sat attentively behind a desk arranged near the far wall.  Both kids were clad in their normal civilian attire, yet seemed better groomed than usual.  The boys each had a token stack of paper in front of them, and cordially faced the screen.

"Hey guys," greeted Lance, with just a touch of bravado.  "Welcome to the human interests segment of this week's video announcements."

Pietro smirked and picked up the thread.  "As I'm sure you've all picked up on by now, this is the segment in which a couple of us in the tele-journalism class get to pick an issue, and open it up for public discussion."

Lance leaned forward on the desk.  "Although between you and me, I'll bet a lot of you **haven't** picked up on that.  'Cause if you've been like me, you've been too busy sleeping through this segment."  Lance flashed a sincere grin.  "Don't worry though, not today."

While Lance had been talking, Pietro had begun folding a paper airplane out of the top sheet on his stack.  "That's right, folks.  Because today Lance and I have a different format planned.  Instead of just mindlessly talking amongst ourselves, or inviting a few of our friends over for some wannabe edition of Crossfire…"  Pietro finished his creation and lobbed it at the camera.  "We've decided to take the issue to you.  Today's clip will feature **you**, the students and faculty who I've had a chance to catch up with over this past week."

"There's been growing tension around campus, and indeed around the world," continued Lance.  "And as journalists, it is our responsibility—nay…"  Lance put his hand to his heart.  "It is our **duty** to bring these tensions to light."  Lance gave a meaningful pause while he and Pietro looked proud.  The moment passed.  Lance turned to Pietro.  "So Pietro, the question of the day…  "Why **do** the French suck so much?"

"Well Lance," responded Pietro, "I can't answer that alone.  But lets see what the **people**…  Have to say."

Both boys turned to face the camera, and the clips of Pietro's interviews began playing.     

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The school commons…

"French fries," said Fred Dukes, holding up a handful of ketchup covered fries.  "I think they're really from Belgium or something.  Trust the French to rip off the little guy's one claim to fame…"  

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The Bayville field house…

"My girlfriend and I had a date last Saturday," started a random student.  "We held hands, kissed, had a great time.  But when I tried French kissing her, I got slapped."  The kid shrugged in resignation.     

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The cafeteria…

"Louie XIV."  Rogue was leaning low on the table, glowering at the camera.  Risty was perched next to her, looking on with interest and her usual smile.  "Take everything wrong with women's fashion," Rogue continued, "an' put it on a guy.  An' then make that guy a King.  Thanks a **lot** for that mental image, guys…"

Risty waved her hand and looked away.  "Oh, come on Rogue, it wasn't that bad.  Well, not for the time, but…"  Risty looked around, trying to keep a straight face.  "Oh, why not.."

Risty stood on her chair and threw out her arms.  "**Hop off, you Frogs**!"  She proclaimed.

Students in the background paused and looked at her.

Risty sat back down with a delirious grin on her face.  Rouge raised an eyebrow.

"What can I say?"  Laughed Risty, looking at the camera.  "The Channel **is** wider than the Atlantic."

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The hallways…

Kurt Wagner rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.  "Not zat we're particularly proud of it back home, but ve really did cream the French back in Vorld Var Two…  Zey are kinda wussy, zat way."

Beside Kurt, Evan Daniels rolled his eyes.  "Yeah.  Who would **eeeeever** figure the Germans might come through **Belgium…"**

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A classroom…

"Napoleon Bonaparte," stated a short boy.  "He tried to invade Russia.  Without winter uniforms.  Ask any Sicilian...  Only an idiot gets involved in a land war in Asia."

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The parking lot…

"Two words," responded a young art teacher as he leaned against his car.  "**Hoiyle!  ****Froin-laven…"**

"Say what?"  Asked Pietro from behind the camera.

The teacher shrugged indifferently.  "Jerry Lewis.  Old comedian.  Stupid, but the French love him."

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The cafeteria…

With several of her friends standing around behind her, one of the 'fashion girls' looked at the camera.  "Think of the movies.  The British have James Bond.  The French have the French Maid.  Put them together, and the French get f—"

The clip cut out before the girl could finish her observation.

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The Library…

Sitting behind a computer, the school's Senior Librarian sniffed at the camera.  "Their idea of tact involves testing a hydrogen bomb on the 50th anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing."

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The home economics room…

"The French put a lot of stock in fancy restaurants," began a young teacher as she tied her apron around her waist.  "And they have a company that goes around specifically to grade fancy restaurants.  A few months back, a chef from one of the restaurants committed suicide.  Other chefs blamed the grading company for downgrading the chef's restaurant."  The teacher glanced at some students who were starting to file in, then back at the camera.  "Such a pity…"

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The parking lot…

"The French Revolution," answered Scott Summers as he tossed his backpack into the back of his convertible.  Leaning against his door, Scott turned back to the camera.  "'Why don't we take everything the Americans did right with **their revolution, and do something else!'"  Scott shook his head dismissively.  "Idiots."**

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A classroom…

"Ever see _Man in the Iron Mask_?"  Asked a random student as he waited for the opening bell to ring.  "Leonardo DiCaprio played the King of France.  'Nuff said, right there."

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The Chemistry Lab…

"They eat Frogs over there!"  Squealed a freshmen girl.  "Frogs!  Can you imagine?!  Like eating Kermit…"

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The hallways…

"The French?"  Asked a blond, looking at the camera.  "They're like that Tolanski kid.  They bathe once a month, whether they need it or not."

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The school commons…

"Why wouldn't you loath them?"  Asked a girl with a grown-out dye-job.  "They're nothing but a bunch of cheese-eating surrender monkeys.  Even their flag is made for surrender."  The girl made a few pantomiming gestures.  "Cut off the sides, tie the center to a stick, and you're already prepared to give up."

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The cafeteria kitchens…

The chief lunch-lady set down the carbonation cylinder she had been moving.  "Their greatest cultural contributions have been spoiled grape juice and moldy milk."

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The computer lab…

A techie boy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  "The French have a ministry specifically to try to control their language.  The ministry tries to do that by banning new foreign words from use in government documents.  They've banned things like 'start-up' companies, and replaced it with the French equivalent of 'young plant' companies."  The kid shrugged.  "That's just sad, really…"

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A classroom…

"Jean Jacques Russo," muttered a student as he idly paged through his history textbook.  "What a dingbat…"

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The commons…

"I saw one of those internet who-would-win fight-sites a while back," began a boy who was seated with his friends around a table.  "One of the matches pitted the entire French Army against a stadium full of English Soccer Hooligans."  The kid smirked.  "One of the biggest blow-outs on record."

One of the other boys chuckled.  "I saw a match-up like that put **all of France against Frank Castle.  The best argument for the French was that the Punisher wouldn't survive long enough eating only French food."**

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The hallways…

Looking back from her open locker, a cheerleader paused.  "Have you read any of the Hercule Poirot books?  He's gotta be one of the lamest detectives out there.  Even the dumbest incarnation of Watson could kick him around a some…"

The girl rolled her eyes.  "And don't even get me started on Inspector **Clouseau**…"

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By the bleachers…

"Think of their sports," began Duncan Mathews.  The starting Quarterback was slightly sweaty, and decked out in a practice uniform and full padding, sans the helmet.  "They've got nothing.  Cricket is a joke.  A long, drawn-out bad joke.  They're so obsessed with soccer that they can't even get its name right.  And rugby…"  Duncan brought up his arm, which was tightly clenching the mask of his helmet and clearly showing his muscles.  With half-hooded eyes, the boy looked back at the camera.  "Well…  If it doesn't require body armor, it's just not worth playing…"

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The principle's office…

Principle Kelly leaned back in his chair, and idly began tapping his fingers on his desk.  "The French?  The French are interesting…

"In a historical sense, the French have a couple of recurring tendencies.  Along with the rest of Northwestern Europe they are typically at the forefront of new trends.  The British—and we Americans—tend to back away form the trend, but slowly integrate it into normal society.  But the French have a tendency to leap heedlessly into new trends.  Things just tend to be bloodier in France.  Compared to what happened in France, the Industrial and Democratic Revolutions of the 18th Century had a much more benign impact of British and American cultural life…

"The French also tend to be rather aggressive, diplomatically.  They want Europe supreme in the world, and France supreme in Europe.  That meant intense French activities during colonialization.  It also means that France actively bumped head with the rising powers of Central and Eastern Europe.  More recently, it has meant greater **attempted** French involvement in world affairs.  However, with the passing of the their empire and the eclipse of Europe by America and possibly by Asia, it means France has struggled to play a role beyond that which they have the power to attain.  They cling to their memories of being a great power, yet have neither the will nor the might to influence the great powers of today."

Seemingly lost in thought, Principle Kelly idly swiveled in his chair.  "They assume the mantle of a diplomatic super-power.  As you students would say, they 'talk the talk.'  But repeatedly in the last century, they have failed to 'walk the walk.'  Since World War I, they have been using 'diplomacy' as a cover to avoid **any** conflict whatsoever.  Before World War II, they failed to honor their treaties with Czechoslovakia and or the rest of Eastern Europe.  As the 'natural' leaders of Europe, they failed to meaningfully intervene in the Balkan crisis of the mid 90s.  More recently, they acted as though the Gulf War II, as I've heard it dubbed, was nothing more than a political power play.  France, and others, unanimously passed resolution 1441, yet refused to support any enforcement of the resolution's terms.  Indeed, there were over 15 previous resolutions against Iraq, and France was even pushing not to enforce some of those.  Specifically, they had been calling for the lifting of certain sanctions leveled against Saddam's regime."  Kelly paused for a moment.  "That was before the war, I should add.

"Ah, Iraq," Mused Kelly.  "The French have some interesting ties to Iraq.  As a major conventional arms dealer, France had supplied Iraq with a good deal of its military hardware.  Something to the tune of 20%.  Coincidently," Kelly added as an aside, "another 70% was supplied by Russia and China.  The axis of peace…  At one point, there was a French reform candidate that called for France to get out of the arms business.  However, as soon as he was elected, he was forced to renege on that belief.  Simple pragmatism.  Seeing how much of France was dependent on arms manufacturing changed his mind."

"You mean Chirac?"  Pietro asked from behind the camera.

Principle Kelly thoughtfully rubbed his chin for a moment.  "No.  I don't quite recall who that was at the moment.  But I truly don't think it was Chirac.

"However, the good Monsieur Chirac **does** have some strong ties to the weapon's industry, as well as our good buddy Saddam.  Been reading about it lately."  Kelly briefly glanced up at the camera.  "Con Coughlin's SADDAM: King of Terror for any interested civics students…"  Kelly chuckled, amused at how odd he had sounded.  "Chirac and Saddam penned a Franco-Iraqi Nuclear Cooperation Treaty, which let Iraq start up its nuclear program back in the 70s and 80s.  One passage of the treaty explicitly stated that 'all persons of Jewish race' would be excluded from the program.  In both nations.  Rather telling, would you say?"

"Yeah," responded Pietro from behind the camera.  "Wow, sir, you're really into this politics stuff."

Kelly smiled, somewhat self-consciously, and leaned back in his chair.  "Well, what can I say?  It's a hobby."

"Democrat or Republican?"  Pietro immediately joked.  "Y'know, so we know which side of the ballot to look on in 2004."

"I don't believe you'll be old enough to vote in that election, Mister Maximoff."  Kelly chuckled to himself.  "Besides, it's best to set one's sights a little lower, and then work your way up from there."

"The Legislature, then?"

Leaning back in his chair, Kelly smiled.  "It's never too late to dream, Mister Maximoff."

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The study room…

Lance and Pietro stared silently at the camera for a moment, betraying the inexperience of the video announcement editing crew.

"Well, folks," began Pietro, suddenly perking up.  "**You** have spoken.  We'd like to thank everyone that took the time to answer our questions.  Your help was valuable, even if your response didn't make it onto our show."

"But, hey," continued Lance.  "We may get to you eventually.  Because you never know when we will once again go in search of…"  Lance let his voice trail off before continuing with a forced emphasis.  "**Yet Another Reason to Loath the French**.  I'm Lance Alvers," he finished, calmly straightening his papers.

"And I'm Pietro Maximoff," added Pietro.  "Next up, Sports."

The camera cut to a screen displaying a list of students involved in the post-production of the segment.  The names were super-imposed over a French flag that had a red 'banned' emblem in front of it.  The screen was only up for a few seconds, during which a very familiar voice- over was played.

"Now, go a-**way**, or I shall **taunt** you a second **time**!"

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	19. Whiskey in the Jar

Somewhere out there, there is this little-known garage band called Metallica…

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The mansion…

Clad in some old jeans and T-shirts, Samuel Guthrie and Bobby Drake were looking through the closet in the dorm room they shared together.  Pulling out a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off, Bobby held it up to himself.  "Hey, Sammy, how's this look."

"Grungy," Samuel appraised after a moment's hesitation.  "Where'd you **get** that?"

With a grin, Bobby slipped his arms through the jacket.  "Oh, I got into an 80's kick a while back.  You know how it goes…"  Bobby sidestepped over to the mirror above his desk, and ruffled his hair.

"Yeah, I guess I do," muttered Samuel.  The boy slipped a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes, and closed his closet.  "So you ready to head down?"

Giving himself one last look over, Bobby nodded.  "Yup.  Can you believe Logan is letting us do this?"

The boys hit the hall.  "Are you kidding?"  Replied Samuel.  "After what happened last time, I thought they'd never let us have another party here again.  Especially with kids from the school invited…"

"Well, technically, I don't think this is a 'party,'" said Bobby as they turned a corner.  "The fliers Kurt had me print out called it a 'Music Night.'"

Samuel cocked his head.  "That makes a difference?"

"Dunno."  Bobby shrugged.  "But, hey, he let us do it.  He even offered to go get some chips and whatnot."

As the boys got closer to the stairs, the ambient noise level began to increase.

"I thought Kurt and Evan took care of the snack food."

Bobby shrugged again.  "Guess they didn't tell that to Logan."

"He back yet?"

"He left this morning.  Probably just to go cruising.  I think he told someone he would pick up some stuff on the way home."

At the top of the central stairway, Samuel paused.  "Cruising on his motorcycle?  He won't be bringing too many snacks back…"

Bobby likewise stopped short.  "Huh," he agreed.  "You're right."  The two boys stared at each other for a moment, then looked out over the foyer, where hordes of students were streaming in.  "Maybe he did misunderstand what we were having…"  Shrugging, Bobby skipped down the stairs, and Samuel coolly followed him a pace later.

After making their way through the kitchen and picking up a plate of chips, some pop, and three girls they didn't know, Bobby and Samuel came to the conservatory, where the main attraction of the night was to be held.  The room was already full, and more students were pouring in by the second.  Across the room, with the bay windows as a backdrop, an 8x16 foot makeshift stage had been set up.  A drum-set was placed in the back of the stage, and various guitars and amp plug-ins were scattered around the rest of the stage.  The set-up was flanked on either side by stacks of large speakers and subwoofers.  Forge was standing next to a stack, wiring up a mixing board, and various other students were setting up speakers elsewhere in the room, and beyond.

"Man," began Samuel, as he tried to remember the name of the girl that was helping herself to his pop.  "Too bad Scott and Jean are gunna miss this."

Bobby laughed.  "I'm just sorry Hank is going to miss it.  Would have done him good!  But I guess they really wanted to join Storm and the Prof off on…  Ah, whatever they were doing…"

A very loud cheer erupted from the crowd.  Samuel joined in, for no reason other than he could.

"Hey, quiet!"  Interjected one of the girls on Bobby's shoulder.  "It's starting."

In the front of the room, Forge and a group of other kids had swarmed across the stage.  After a few moments of activity, most of them trailed off.  But four remained.

On a stool behind the drums, sat Todd Tolanski.  He wore his usual ratty shoes and pants, and was eagerly twirling a set off drumsticks.  Though rumor had it he had been shirtless earlier in the evening—as was drummer tradition—popular opinion had convinced him to don a beat-up Union Jack shirt.

Fred Dukes stood on stage right, dressed in a black shirt, with his normal coveralls and his 'Blob' vest on over it.  Fred was standing next to one of the amplifiers, and carefully tuning a black bass guitar.

On the other side of the stage, Pietro Maximoff was attaching a shoulder strap to his blue-steel electric guitar.  Pietro was dressed radically different than normal, with some loose jeans tucked into a pair of boots, a deep blue Quicksilver-tm brand shirt, and a loose black jacket.  Additionally, his hair had been repeatedly blow-dried, and fell across his face in a very frayed manner.  Slipping the strap over his shoulder, he gave his guitar a few experimental spins.

In the center of the stage, Lance Alvers stepped up to a microphone.  Lance was dressed exactly as he always was, and had a brown wood-stained electric guitar hanging from his shoulder.  "Okay folks," he began.  "Quiet down, it's time to start."

"**Whoo-hoo**!"  Yelled the second girl on Bobby's shoulder.  Several other students joined in.

On stage, Lance looked back at Forge and the mixing board.  "Hey can we get some feedback up here?  It just doesn't feel right without a—"

A high-pitched whine escaped the speakers.  The usual sounds of annoyance came from the audience as the sound died away, flared up, then died again.  "That better?"  Came Forge's distant voice.

Lance grinned.  "Yeah.  **Okay**," he continued, turning his attention back to the audience.  "Welcome to the concert, folks.  Before you all head out, be sure to thank one of the Institute kids, who're hosting this.  Particularly, if you get a chance, be sure to thank my good friend Kitty Pryde…"  Lance trailed off, pointing his hand to a girl somewhere close to the stage.  Several members of the audience whistled shrilly.  "She arranged for me and the band to come, so hats off to her!"

Todd did a quick drum run, and Fred hit a quick cord in the usual dinking-around style.

"Now before we begin," continued Lance as the notes died away.  "I probably ought to introduce the band.  Tolanski back there is doing the drumming, Fred 'D' is playing bass, Pietro is playing lead, and if you somehow missed it, I'm 'Axle' Lance—'excellence' if you say it fast—and I'm doing the lead vocals and the back-up guitar."  Lance took a quick look back across the stage.  "Pietro usually handles back up vocals, but Fred does join in when the song calls for it…"  Looking back at the audience, Lance adjusted his grip on his guitar.  "We're Brotallica, and it's time to rock."

Bobby threw up his hands, and many members of the audience cheered.  As Lance stepped away from the microphone, Fred hit the pickup note and the first two chords.  Students cheered again as the rock-junkies identified the song.  With the third note, Pietro and Lance joined in on the guitar line, and Todd began whacking the drums.  In the second measure, Forge upped the volume, and Pietro led the guitars in playing the main riff.  All three guitarists thrashed their heads to the beat.

As the riff died down, Lance silenced his guitar and let it hang loosely from his shoulder strap.  Stepping forward amidst another round of cheering, he grabbed the microphone.  "_As I was goin' over_…"  He started singing, letting his voice drag.   "_The Cork and Kerry mountains, I sa-aw Captain Far-rell, and his mon-ney he was coun-tin'.  I first produced my pistol_…"  With his eyes half-hooded over, Lance pantomimed pulling a gun out of his pants.  "_And then produced my rap-pier_…"  Lance pantomimed grabbing a sword with his other arm.  "_I said…  'Stand and deliver!'  Oh_!  …_Or the de-vil he may take ya_!"  
  


Lance took a half step back and hoisted up his guitar.  Pietro ripped into the main guitar riff, again thrashing his head to the beat.  Students cheered.

"_I took all of his mon-ney_…"  Lance continued as he stepped back up to the mike.  "_And it was a pret-ty pen-ny.  I took all of his mon-ney!  Yeah, an' I brought it home to Mol-ly_…"  As he sang, Lance's head tilted slightly to the side, and his words seemed to roll out of his mouth.  "_She swo-o-ore that she'd love me_…  _No never would she leave me_…  _But the devil take that **wom-man**! Yeah, for you know she treat me eas-sy_…

"_Musha ring dum a doo dum a da_…"

Todd hit the cymbal three times after the line.

"_Whack for my dad-dy-o_…"  Lance continued.  "_Whack for my dad-dy-o.  There's_…"  Lance whipped back his head to throw the hair from his eyes.  "**_Whiskey_**_ in the **jar**-**o**_!"

Lance thrashed his head back down, and the three guitarists played the main riff.  The riff was almost lost amidst a renewed cheering of the crowd.  Forge quickly upped the volume, inspiring even more shouts of approval.

With the guitars and audience falling into the normal patterns, Lance let his guitar drop.  "_Be-in' drunk and wear-ry_…  _I went to Mol-ly's cham-ber.  Takin' my money with me_…"  Lance's head twitched to he put a slight crescendo on the last words.  "_'Cause I nev-ver kne—ew the dan-ger.  For about six—or may-be seven_…"  Slurred Lance.  "_In walked captain Far-re—ell…  I jumped up, fired my pis-tols_!"  Lance leaned back for emphasis.  "_And I shot him with both bar-rels_!"

Girls in the front rows screamed, and guys let out a general whoop of approval.  However, near the back of the room, students began moving around.

On stage, Lance continued as normal.  "_Yeah, musha ring dum a doo dum a da_!"

Todd hit the cymbal thrise, with Fred adding a deep "Hey…" on each beat.

"_Whack for my da-dy-o_!"  Yelled Lance.  "_Whack for my dad-dy-o!  There's_…  _Whiskey in the jar-o_!"

The boys on stage thrashed their heads to the main riff.  Shouting something uninteligable over the music, Samuel grabbed Bobby by the jacket and quickly hauled him to the closest exit.  Two of the girls hurried off with them, while the third one obliviously remained in the crowd.

As the main riff drew to a close, Lance continued playing his guitar, but faded to the back of the stage.  Pietro and Fred drifted closer to him, and together the three boys played an extended sequence of various guitar solos, duos, and three-part lines.

In the audience, activity in the back had peaked, and back of the room had nearly cleared out.  Closer to the stage, students remained as densely packed and as rowdy as ever.

On stage, the solos wound down, and the boys inched closer to their usual spots.

Abruptly, Logan appeared in the doorway that connected the conservatory to the mansion's garage.  Logan was dressed in his usually dusty jeans and leather jacket, and was carrying two bags off assorted snacks.  Seeing the spectacle in the room beyond, he stopped dead still.

Pietro launched into the main riff, and the boys on stage thrashed their heads appropriately.

Logan's face contorted and is bags fell to the floor.

Finishing the guitar riff, Lance tossed his guitar so that it was hanging from its strap across his back.  As he tightly gripped the microphone, he continued singing in a much more subdued tone than he had used in the previous verses.  "_Now some men like the fish-shin'_…"

Logan's eye twitched.

"_And some men like the fowl-lin'_…"

The students packed around the stage finally took notice of the new situation, and began scattering.

"_Some men like to he—ear_…"

Logan charged the stage.

"_To he-ar the can'n-ball a roar-rin'_!"

Too late, Fred spotted the approaching berserker, and was viscously speared off the stage.

"_Me_…" Croaked Lance, completely oblivious.  "_I like sleep-pin'_…"

Logan bounced off the ceiling as Fred backhanded the man away form him.

"_'Specially in my Mol-ly's cham-ber_…"

Fred got back to his feet, defensively banishing his guitar.  In response, Logan crouched down and growled.  Todd broke off and stared.  Though anxiously watching his band-mates, Pietro continued to diligently pick away the verse-line.

"_But here I am in pris-son_…"

Logan leapt forward and was batted into the drum-set by Fred's swing.  Todd screamed and jumped away at the last minute.

"_Here I am with a ba-all and chain, yeah_…"

Regaining his wits, Logan grabbed a side drum, and tossed it at Fred.  The big man took the blow to the head, and momentarily staggered back.  Todd jumped forward in retaliation, but was almost casually brushed aside.

"_Musha ring dum a doo dum a da_!"

Holding his guitar like the ax that it was, Fred charged the stage.  A big swing knocked Logan into a speaker stack.  The impact created a loud quasi-mechanical thud.  Logan dodged another hasty swing, which hit the stack and induced another heavily articulated thud.  Reaching forward, Logan grabbed Fred's jacket, and slammed him against the pile, creating the third thud in as many seconds.

"_Whack for my dad-dy-o_!"  Sang Lance, still oblivious.

The stack of speaker collapsed, destroying the back half of the stage and forcing Pietro to dart away for safety.

"_Whack for my dad-dy-o_!"

Fred stood up from the rubble, yelling in anger.  Todd jumped next to him, angrily banishing a cymbal stand.  Logan growled and lowered his stance.

"_The—eere's_…"  Lance yelled, holding the note an extra moment.  "**_Whis-skey_**_ in the **jar**-o—oh **yeah**_!"

Lance pushed the microphone stand off the stage and swung his guitar back around to his front.  Standing on the corner of the half demolished stage, Pietro looked helplessly at Lance, at the brawl going on beside the stage, then back at Lance.  With a flash, the boy darted off stage, then darted back on holding a double-necked guitar.  Hastily strapping a tuning clip onto the second neck, the boy threw the guitar-strap over his shoulder.  Lance launched into the main riff, and Pietro followed, desperately playing on both necks and thrashing his head all the harder for the effort.

"_Whiskey in the jar-o—ooooh, yeah_!"  Repeated Lance during the riff.  As the riff finished, Lance hopped off stage to retrieve the microphone.  "_Musha ring dum a doo dum a da_…"

On the shattered stage, Fred and Todd were thrown out the bay windows.

"_Musha ring dum a doo dum a da_…"  With his guitar hanging loosely around his back, Lance stooped down and picked up the mike.

Logan rushed across the stage.  Hastily unstrapping his guitar, Pietro grabbed it by both necks and swung it at his attacker's head.  The guitar shattered and Logan staggered to the side.

"_Musha ring dum a doo dum a da_…"

Logan shook off the blow, and glared back at Pietro.  Still holding the shattered necks, Pietro struck a martial arts pose and banished the remains of his instrument like escrisma sticks.

"_Musha ring dum a doo dum a da_…"

Logan lunged, prompting Pietro to dodge and fight back with a flurry of broken necks, and flailing strings.  The two continued to exchange blows, neither achieving a clear advantage. 

"_Yeah, yeeeeeee-aah_…"  With his eyes half hooded over, Lance tossed the mike to the back of the stage.  The boy shook the hair out of his eyes, and casually carried his guitar to back to the trailer outside.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	20. Open Mike Night

The Bayville High little theater…

On stage and in the spotlight, Principle Kelly adjusted his tie and looked out over the audience.  "…And next in our first annual Open-Mike night," Principle Kelly continued.  "We have a performer I'm sure you're **all** familiar with…  So please give a warm welcome to our star quarterback and possibly up-and-coming comedian…"  Kelly trailed off as he turned to the side.  "Duncan Mathews!"

In the control booth, some techie piped in the opening chords to Queen's _Princes of the Universe_.  Back on stage, Duncan Mathews walked on from stage left.  As the crowd cheered him, he shook hands with Principle Kelly, and graciously accepted the mike.  Kelly did a quick fade, leaving Duncan alone in the spotlight.

"Hey!"  Duncan greeted, looking out over the audience.  "How you all doing tonight?"  The crowd cheered, as they were expected to do after such a prompting.  "So it's been a few months now," Duncan continued.  "Since the big thing happened.  Since the event that rocked the world of sports.  Yes, it's only been a few short months since Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player that ever lived, retired."  Duncan paused.  "For, what, the** third** time?  The forth?"  The audience laughed, and Duncan blew some air out of the corner of his mouth.  "He'll be back," he muttered.

Duncan paused to take a quick drink from the water bottle that had been left on the stool behind the spotlight.  "Ah," he said as he finished.  "So, do we have any black people in the audience tonight?"  Again, the audience cheered in the manner expected.  Several students did so especially loudly.  Duncan nodded his head.  "All right.  Not bad.  Now, any **white** guy guys out there?"  Answering his own question Duncan threw up his arm and yelled into the microphone.  In the audience, loud cheers erupted.  As he stopped cheering himself, Duncan chuckled.  "Ah, I love being the majority…

"Do feel sorry for black people though," he continued.  "I know a few of 'em, all pretty good guys.  But they've had it rough.  Life has just been pretty difficult for them"  Duncan paused for a moment before starting to wander around the stage.  "And no, I'm not talking any of that discrimination crap.  If they got that they'd punch the guy in the face.  Nor any of that wussy slavery-still-hurts whining.  That ended like eight generations ago.  It gone.  Over.  Done.  Doesn't affect 'em.  No…"  Duncan trailed off, looking at the audience.  "I'm talking about hair."

Several parts of the audience chuckled.  "Oh, you know what I'm talking about.  Black folks just got screwed when it comes to hair.  I mean, look at me."  Duncan idly brushed a few locks of his blond hair out of his face.  "I've had this same haircut for the past decade.  But it's been **my** choice.  If I **wanted** to, I could change my hairstyle to anything I can think of.

"What hairstyles can you black guys have?  You can shave it all off."  Duncan ran his hand over his head for emphasis.  "You can have a buzz cut.  You can have a slightly **longer **buzz cut.  Or…"  Duncan trailed off for a moment.  "You can grow it out and have a fro."  The Seventies reference drew some laughs.  "That's really it.  You're hair just curls too much to do anything else.  Nature screwed ya.  I'm sorry.

"And girls!"  Duncan leaned forward with true earnestness.  "I'm **sorry**…  I don't listen closely to this stuff—because I don't care—but some of you **iron** your hair?"  Duncan looked around, appalled.  "That can't be true can it?  No sane person would willingly apply burning heat to themselves, would they?  Not just for their looks…"

Duncan trailed off, looking to the side.  "Wait, you're girls.  Yeah, you would."  A mixed reaction came from the audience.  "Why do you do that, girls?  Huh?  And especially you black girls?  Why flatten your hair just so that you can look like white girls?  Straight hair doesn't make you look hot."  Duncan placed his hand over his heart.  "Trust me.  I'm a guy.  Your hair is just about the last thing I look at…

"Seriously, though," Duncan continued, quickly shifting tone.  "Stop doing that.  Find a new 'hip' style.  Have the NAACP finance an expedition back to Africa and see how girls naturally deal with curly hair.  Find a style that is uniquely you!"  Duncan abruptly frowned.  "But if they come back saying you should put hoops around your necks, shoot them on the spot."  The audience laughed.

Duncan shook his head and walked back to center stage.  "Yeah, I'm ripping on you guys, but you know its all okay.  'Cause your hair isn't all bad.  It does have its good points."  Duncan turned to face the audience.  "Such as this:  I guarantee you, you will **never** see a black person with a comb-over."  Several audience members whooped.  "And if you do, bust a cap in that brother's ass, he is **not** keeping it real…"  Duncan trailed off to a renewed series of shouts.

Smirking, Duncan ran a hand through his hair again.  "Yeah, you've got your advantages.  We both do, really.  We all have the hair that suits us.  Me?  I would look like a deuche with black frizzy hair.  And black guys, you'd look stupid to if you wore this floppy stuff.  Think about it.  What would Shaft have looked like if he had had a split curl.  A Yuppie, that's what.  A dumb, wussy, uncoordinated Yuppie…

"And another thing, black guys…"  Duncan paused for emphasis.  "You really don't need to worry about going bald.  Because black people look **cool** when they're bald."  Duncan shrugged.  "Honestly, you do.  The look suits you.  The moment you start loosing any hair at all—_voop_!"  Duncan whipped his hand along his head for emphasis.  "You just shave everything off, and you're cool once again.

"White guys can't do that.  White guys, can we do that?  Has a bald white guy ever looked cool?

"Wait," Duncan interrupted.  Walking to the side of the stage, he put his hand over his mouth and in a weak voice called out "Patrick Stewart!"  

Prolonged laughter racked the audience.  Duncan stood where he was, nodding with his lips pursed to the side.  "You laugh," Duncan continued at length.  "But its true.  I swear to God.  We were talking about this in practice one time.  Honest.  A few weeks ago, after some sprints, I brought this up with some of the guys.  I asked them that exact same question—name just one cool looking bald white guy—and our linebacker looked at me with a straight face and said 'Patrick Stewart.'"  Duncan held his hands out to the side.  "I swear to God, guys.  I couldn't make up something that crazy.  

"So check your calendars people.  Sometime in the last ten years, Star Trek actually became cool.  Even for football jocks."

Duncan shook his head dismissively and walked back to center stage.  "But Captain Picard aside, there are no cool looking white guys.  That's just the way it is.  We white people were born with this wild hair, and we **need** that hair to look good.  Black guys were born with frizzy hair, and it looks good on them.

"And this goes beyond hair, too," continued Duncan, pacing once again.  "Look at hats.  White guys, when we wear baseball caps, how do we wear them?"  Duncan pantomimed putting on a cap.  "Visors facing front, that's right.  Not only because it blocks the sun, but because it makes us look good.  We need that visor act as a counterpoint for our faces."

Duncan stopped pacing.  "But how do black guys wear their baseball caps?  With the visor pointing back.  And they only wear fitted caps as well.  So once a black guy puts on his baseball cap, from their eyebrows up…"  Duncan trailed off as he pantomimed switching his hat around.  Then with a broad gesture, he brushed his hand up his forehead and across his hair.  "Your head is smoo-_ooth_!"  The joke, combined with the vocal inflection drew a cheer from the crowd.

Nodding to himself, Duncan launched into the final leg of his routine.  "That's right.  Black people like smooth hats.  What do they wear in winter?  Tight-fitting wool hats.  And in summer they wear their baseball caps backwards, and put nylons on their heads."  The crowd laughed loudly.  "Dunno why," continued Duncan.  "But they do.

"Us white guys, we wouldn't be caught dead wearing nylons over our hair.  We'd look stupid!"  Duncan scowled for emphasis.  "We'd be stupid!  …It'd mess up our hair…

"Black guys like smooth hats, white guys don't.  I've already beaten the baseball caps to death…  In winter?  Yeah, we wear wool hats, but we make them long and pointy."  Duncan held his hand above his head mockingly.  "And then we put a big wool puffball at the end to make sure it flops around!"  Many audience members laughed, remembering said hats.  "And when we don't wear those, we wear those padded caps with big floppy ear-flaps.

"What other hats do white guys wear?"  Continued Duncan.  "A multitude of them!  And all of them have something pointing away from our face.  Like those Irish hats with small curved brim…  Or the newsies hats from the turn of the century…  Y'know, kind of like out baseball caps only with a bunch of fabric pulled up to the visor…

"The Robin Hood hats!  Robin Hood wore a pointed green hat.  Black guys wouldn't wear that…  Same with the Davey Crocket coonskins."

Duncan continued pacing across the stage.  "White guys invented the fedora.  Our policemen wear those small caps with the upturned rim…"  Duncan paused.  "Of course, then there's the British policemen…"  The audience laughed.

Duncan smirked at his audience.  "And lets all remember, the coolest hat in the history of the world was made by us white guys.  Or at least made popular buy us," Duncan conceded.  "The **cowboy** hat…"  Duncan pantomimed looking down while pulling on the brim of a hat.  The audience roared in approval.  "Yes'ir," the boy continued in a western drawl.  "I recon' there ain't no cooler hat in the world than a good ol' cowboy hat.  A big ol' articulated top, and a wide brim, to help spread our face.  Yes'ir…"

Duncan took off the ghost hat and placed it on the stool behind him.  "Buy, my friends, lets not get too proud of ourselves.  After all…"  Duncan gave one last pause before quickly finishing his routine.  "We're also responsible for creating sombreros."

The crowd cheered loudly, and Duncan raised his arm in acknowledgement.  "You've been a great audience.  My time is up, and I hope to see you around.  G'night…"  With the crowd still cheering, Duncan quickly faded off stage.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	21. Wolverine's New Clothes

Marvel Headquarters, New York City, sometime in 2002…

"Hey, bub," started Wolverine, looking across the table.  "You got any extras of those?"

Taking a long drag off his half burned cigar, Wolverine looked back through hooded eyes.  "Yeah.  What's it to ya?"

"What do you think, ya bastard?!"  Snarled the first Wolverine.  "I want one!"

The Second Wolverine smirked as he mockingly laid the cigar in the ashtray.  "Language," he chided.  "We're in the presence of **sensitive ears…"  Wolverine laughed as he prepared to take another drag of smoke.**

Slightly irritated, Wolverine pulled a toothpick out of his mouth.  "Language doesn't both me," he responded with a hint of anger.  "I just don't have a reason to use it.  Small words for small minds, y'know…"

Wolverine and Wolverine looked at each other, and grunted dismissively.

The pretentious character with the toothpick was Evolution-Wolverine.  The youngest of the Big Four, he was often looked down upon for being a 'wussy,' and for having to abide by the rules of Saturday Morning Television.  Evolution-Wolverine himself was not bothered by his situation, and actually embraced them full-heartedly.  Indeed, in interacting with others, he often seemed to have a chip on his shoulder.  Evolution-Wolverine wore a Byrne-inspired orange-and-brown 'Hunter' spandex uniform, with a cowl that had been pulled back and was lying like a hood around the base of his neck.  His hair was swept back and a hint of stubble grew on his face, yet his features still had a unique crispness to them.

The character smoking the cigar was Movie-Wolverine.  Clad the hoodless black latex and rubber suit he had worn for the original movie, Movie-Wolverine had the build and face of Hugh Jackman.  Admittedly, a very haggard face of Hugh Jackman.  He had mutton chop sideburns, swept back hair, and an extremely unkempt two-week beard.

The third Wolverine present was Ultimate-Wolverine, who hailed from the Ultimate line of comics.  The most unhindered and bloodthirsty of the three, he often had problems keeping his temper in check.  Ultimate-Wolverine was significantly taller than the others, and wore a dark blue and yellow spandex costume—though not the classic yellow-with-blue-stripes costume—with no hood and an assortment of useless straps and packets.  Ultimate-Wolverine actually had bluish hair, which was somewhat cleanly swept back, and had a reverse-triangle goatee on his chin.

Abruptly all three Wolverines sniffed the air.

"About time," Muttered Evolution-Wolverine.

"What a surpri-**ise**…"  Mocked Ultimate Wolverine, in a loud voice meant to be heard outside the meeting room.  "**Ja**—**aaames is late."**

The door opened, and in walked Comic-Wolverine, star of New X-Men, Uncanny X-Men, the recent Origin mini-series, and his self-titled Wolverine.  Comic-Wolverine was clad in one of the 'hip, new' street costumes.  The costume consisted of off-the-shelf combat boots, black pants, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket with glaring yellow embroidery.  His face was scrunched up, and half-day stubble covered his face.

"Can it, bub," Comic-Wolverine immediately retorted.  "I don't wanna hear it."

Evolution-Wolverine smirked and leaned slightly closer to Movie-Wolverine.  "Yeah," he whispered.  "All he wants to hear is that there's a fresh bottle of Pepto-Bismol in the cupboard."  Movie Wolverine snickered in response.

"For the **last** time," Yelled Comic-Wolverine.  "I am **not constipated!  This is just how I look now."**

"Well," Movie-Wolverine mumbled back to Evolution-Wolverine.  "It's how he looks **three** issues out of the year."  The two Wolverines again snickered to themselves.

Comic-Wolverine growled and took a seat at the meeting table.

"Hey bub," started Ultimate-Wolverine, nudging Comic-Wolverine.  "You got a smoke?"

"No," Comic-Wolverine snorted.  "They're still enforcing the ban on me…"

Ultimate-Wolverine's eyes narrowed, and his gaze lingered on Movie-Wolverine.  Noticing the look, Movie-Wolverine took a long drag on the cigar.

Sniffing the air again, Evolution-Wolverine sat up in his chair.

"Oh, what a surprise," Ultimate-Wolverine repeated.  "Joe Quesanda is **la—aaaate**…"

The door opened, and Joe Quesanda, Editor In Chief of Marvel Comics, stepped into the room.  The EIC was a man about 35 years of age, average height and slightly heavy build, and dressed in casual attire.  "Good morning, gentlemen," he cordially began.  "I'm glad you could make it.  Please, have a seat."

Seated around the meeting table, all four Wolverines glowered at Joe.

Ignoring their looks, Joe took a seat and set his briefcase on the table.

"Okay, bub," started Comic-Wolverine, who saw himself as the natural leader of the group.  "Why'd you want to talk to us all **this** time?  You gunna lift the smoking ban, or what?"

Caught off guard for half a second, Joe shook his head dismissively.  "Of course not, Logan.  Smoking is dangerous and unhealthy, and it's not something we're going to promote in our products."

"I'll show you dangerous…"  Grumbled Ultimate-Wolverine under his breath.

Movie-Wolverine looked at his cigar, now just a stub, and took one last drag before dropping it in the ashtray.

"So what **do** you want to talk to us about?"  Prompted Evolution-Wolverine, who was still chewing on his toothpick.

"Well, I guess I should just cut to the thick of it."  Joe opened his briefcase, and pulled out four clipped stacks of paper.  He handed the four packs to Comic-Wolverine, and nodded slightly to indicate that he should pass them on.  Comic-Wolverine tossed three of the stacks to Ultimate-Wolverine, and began flipping through his own stack.  Seeing nothing but flow-charts and numbers, he closed the packed disgustedly.  After seeing his reaction, the other Wolverines ignored their own stacks.

"I've been talking to the boys in marketing," continued Joe, oblivious to their reactions.  "As I'm sure you all know, you are one of our most popular and well-known characters here at Marvel."

"One of?"  Balked Comic-Wolverine.

"You are also one of our most recognizable characters," continued Joe, oblivious.  "In addition to representing the X-Men-(tm) on both page and screen, we've been using your likeness on a number of other venues.  Action figures, T-shirts, lunchboxes, collectable cards, and the like.  The thing is…"  Joe help up his hands in a Yuppie-like gesture for emphasis.  "The boys in marketing are worried that we're diluting your image."

Evolution-Wolverine leaned forward on the table.  "How so?"

"Well," continued Joe, holding up his hands again.  "Think of it like this; an eight year old kid goes to a toy store, and picks up a shiny new Wolverine-(tm) action figure.  Of course, he's going to love it.  And of course, he's going to start looking for Wolverine-(tm) products in **other** venues.  But…"  Again, Joe paused for emphasis.  "What if the Wolverine-(tm) used in that other venue isn't the same Wolverine-(tm) that was used for the figure?  He's going to get confused, isn't he?"

Joe glanced around the table, and saw a sea of dumbfounded faces.  "Back up, there," prompted Movie-Wolverine.

Joe laid his hands on the table.  "The point is this, gentlemen.  The boys in marketing think that having multiple incarnations of our Wolverine-(tm) product is counterproductive.  In order to maximize cross-venue consumption, it is in our best interests to use the same Wolverine-(tm) image on **all** venues."

"You're saying you're going to ditch us?!"  Angrily demanded Ultimate-Wolverine.

"No, no, of course not," soothed Joe.  "We here at Marvel Enterprises fully intend to keep all of you around as long as you are financially viable.  We just think that we should have more…  **Conformity…  Among our Wolverine-(tm) products.  So that people can more easily recognize Wolverine-(tm) in any venue, and to follow that product into other venues!"  Clearly proud of his reasoning, Joe smiled across the table.**

"…Let me get this straight…"  Growled Evolution-Wolverine.  "You want to change my image—all of our images—just so people don't confuse me…"  Evolution-Wolverine trailed off, then jerked his thumb towards Ultimate-Wolverine.  "…With him?"

"Exactly," confirmed Joe.  "If a young kid falls in love with the X-Men-(tm) because of your show, and then wants to read the comics as well, we wouldn't want them to be scared off by the fact that the core characters all look different."

Evolution-Wolverine stared at Joe, with one eye twitching nervously.  "Then why'd you cancel **my** comic?"  He asked weakly.

Movie-Wolverine cocked his head to the side. "I thought you said 8 year old comics readers were a myth.  So how come you're pandering to 'em now?"

"Logan," Joe again soothed.  "We're not 'pandering' to anyone.  We're simply tweaking everyone's image so that you all look more alike.  You everyone can identify you all as the same Wolverine-(tm)."

"What, the claws don't give it away?"  Balked Movie-Wolverine.

 "But we're **not the same!" Standing up, Evolution-Wolverine angrily slammed his hand down on the table.  "We're different because we're targeted to a different audiences!  The comics are targeting to aging fan-boys.  The movie to people in general.  I am targeted ****specifically for the teen-and-under crowd!  I don't want any of ****my fans mistaking **me** for that fowl-mouthed, slime-ball, murdering, **pedophile**!"  Evolution-Wolverine thrust his hand towards Ultimate-Wolverine to emphasize his remark.**

"Hey!"  Ultimate-Wolverine jumped up, sending his chair tumbling backwards.

"He's got a point," interjected Movie-Wolverine, angrily, but still calmly,  "That **was** pretty sick."

"Bullshit."  Swore Ultimate-Wolverine.  "She was seventeen!"

"I think that's kinda the point," injected Comic-Wolverine.  "His Jean is seventeen as well."

"Like you two have any room to talk."  Ultimate-Wolverine snarled.  "He's just jealous that he doesn't have the balls to go after her."

_Snikt_!__

"All, right, **bub**…"  With his claws popped, Evolution-Wolverine lowered his stance.

_Snikt_!

Ultimate-Wolverine lunged forward, only to be hastily restrained by Comic-Wolverine.  Evolution-Wolverine snarled, while Movie-Wolverine put his arm in front of the man to try to calm him down.

"Logan, Logan, Logan!"  Soothed Joe in a rather loud voice.  "Logan…"  He finished after a slight pause.  "Settle down.  Remember, we're all on the same team here.  We're all part of that great Wolverine-(tm) franchise."

With one last grunt, Evolution-Wolverine retracted his claws.  "What's this 'we' garbage?"  He muttered under his breath.  With the immediate crisis over, Movie-Wolverine sat back down.  After another moment of grumbling, so did Comic-Wolverine and Ultimate-Wolverine.

"So!"  Continued Joe, oblivious to any remaining tensions.  "With that out of your systems, why don't I take you down to the costume division, and I'll show you all your new looks?"  Standing up, Joe flashed a business-like smile at the quartet.

Ultimate-Wolverine crossed his arms and sulked.

Comic-Wolverine sneered.

Movie-Wolverine skeptically raised an eyebrow.

Evolution Wolverine pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Marvel Enterprises costume division…

With an impassive expression, Ultimate-Wolverine stepped out of a dressing room with essentially the same costume as he wore before.  He grunted at Joe Quesanda, who was standing by the doorway looking proud of himself, then leaned against the far wall.

Movie-Wolverine was the next to step out of a dressing room.  Movie-Wolverine still had the same build and face of a scruffy Hugh Jackman, but was wearing the black latex costume designed for the sequel.

Out of the far dressing room came Comic-Wolverine, whose hair was neatly greased back, and whose beard had been cleaned into a small goatee closely resembling that worn by Ultimate-Wolverine.  Comic Wolverine tugged self-consciously at his ill-fitting black and yellow jacket, and glanced around the room.

The last door creaked open, and Evolution-Wolverine reluctantly stepped out.  Gone were any remnants of his hunter costume.  Instead, he wore a plain deep-navy sleeveless bodysuit with two golden stripes on each shoulder and a circular x-emblem on the upper left torso.  The look was complimented by black combat boots, a utility belt, short cuffed gloves, and some random black straps around his forearms.  Evolution-Wolverine took one look around and shook his head dejectedly.

"So!"  Beamed Joe, oblivious to the mood of the room.  "What do you think."

"None of us are wearing cowls," muttered Evolution-Wolverine as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "We're not Wolverine unless we have a costume with a cowl!"

"Nonsense," refuted Joe.  "You've still got you're claws!  Besides, masks and cowls are for silly superheroes."

"Like Batman," muttered Movie-Wolverine as he wearily leaned against a wall.

Joe laughed far too loudly.  "Yes, like that tired, old, irrelevant character from the Distinguished Competition.  I mean, look at him!"  Joe threw up his hands in another yuppie gesture.  "He's still dressed like he was half a century ago.  But we'll show him…"  Turning to leave, Joe absently waved his hand at the newly redesigned Wolverines.  "So go show 'em, boys!"

With his eyes closer to watering than they've ever been before or since, Evolution-Wolverine looked down at his black suit and utility belt.  "**I'm** dressed like he was fifty years ago…"  He weakly muttered.

Catching Joe's enthusiasm, and with his ego boosted by his unchanged appearance, Ultimate-Wolverine balled his fist in a triumphant gesture.  "Yeah!"  He yelled.  "We'll show 'em who's tops!  **X-Men Forever!"**

"Or at least until Jim Lee starts his run on Batman…"  Muttered Movie-Wolverine, still leaning against the wall.

Ultimate-Wolverine spat in disgust.  "Bullshit.  You really think that has-been hack can do twelve issues in a row?  Do think anyone is still gunna care?"  Ultimate-Wolverine laughed derisively.

Stupefied, Comic-Wolverine's mouth began moving, but no sound came out.

Movie-Wolverine crossed his arms skeptically.

Evolution-Wolverine heaved a sigh and looked forlornly over his shoulder.

With his hand trembling with barely controlled rage, Comic-Wolverine jabbed his finger against Ultimate-Wolverine's chest.  "Do not…"  He stuttered.  "**Do not**!  Insult.  **Lee**!"

Not taking the hint, Ultimate Wolverine mockingly leaned forward.  "Oh?  Why not?  You got something for him?"

_Snikt_!

Taking a measured step back, Comic-Wolverine lowered himself into a combat stance.  "Jim Lee is the greatest penciler to ever draw an X-Man.  **He made us who we are today.  He's the reason we ruled the 90's.  And you…"  Comic-Wolverine's head tilted intently to the side.  "You half-assed excuse for a rip off…  Are not even fit to lick his boots."**

Ultimate-Wolverine looked on in astonished silence for one second.  "You gawdamn sonovabit—"

Comic-Wolverine leapt forward in classic fashion, with his chest puffed out, legs tucked behind him, arms pulled back, and claws splayed out to the side.

_Snikt_!

Movie-Wolverine grunted as the brawl began beside him.

Thoroughly dejected and not even acknowledging the others, Evolution-Wolverine left the room.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marvel Enterprises main office…

Evolution-Wolverine stepped into the reception area, and half-heartedly sniffed the air.  Glancing to the side, he saw three figures talking next to the water cooler.  Leaning against the wall was Fox-Animated-Series-Wolverine, a short and overly muscled hairy character who wore the classic blue-and-yellow stripes Wolverine costume.  Standing next to him, with his arms crossed, was Pryde-of-the-X-Men-Wolverine, who was clad in the authentic brown-and-orange 'Hunter' outfit.  Evolution-Cyclops, in his black and gold jumpsuit, had his arm propped against the water cooler and was talking with the two Wolverines.

Heaving a sigh, Evolution-Wolverine walked up and put his hand on Evolution-Cyclops' shoulder.  "Okay kid," he muttered, "meeting's over.  Time to go back to the studio."

With their conversation interrupted, Fox-Animated-Series-Wolverine and Pryde-of-the-X-Men-Wolverine looked up at Evolution-Wolverine.  After taking a moment to notice his new un-Wolverinish costume, they both quietly shook their heads.  Evolution-Wolverine scowled, but remained silent as he began walking away.

"All right, then," responded Evolution-Cyclops.  He waved a loose salute to the other Wolverines and then confidently strode after Evolution-Wolverine.  "So that's the new costume, huh?  Not too shabby looking…"

Evolution-Wolverine suppressed a growl.

Evolution-Cyclops briefly glanced down at his own costume, then back over to Evolution-Wolverine's new costume.  "Say, you know, with your new look, we're both dressed in just black and gold."  As he continued walking, Evolution-Cyclops smirked and wagged his head slightly.  "The heart and soul of the X-Men, wearing the team colors, once again!  The leader and the rebel…  The brains and the brawns…  The two icons of the X-Men line-up…"

Evolution-Wolverine cocked his head to the side in annoyance.

"Hey," considered Evolution-Cyclops.  "Maybe they'll give us a team-up episode this season.  Like what they had us do in Mindbender.  Just the two of us against a band of the MLF.  Or against Random.  Or Omega Red…"

"Kid…"

"Well why shouldn't they?"  Responded Evolution-Cyclops in the same happy tone.  "I mean, we are a pretty natural team-up.  We're both driven…  Borderline obsessive…  They've let us both show some violent tendencies."  Evolution-Cyclops smirked.  "Face it, we were meant to work together.  We're the closest Marvel has to the World's Finest.  And now we're finally dressed to match."

Evolution-Wolverine let out a hiss, but continued walking normally.  Still smiling, Evolution-Cyclops continued walking behind him.  As they reached the elevator, Evolution-Wolverine hit the down button, and crossed his arms impatiently.  The doors opened a moment later, and both men stepped in.

"Heck," Evolution-Cyclops began as the doors started closing.  "In that new Manga-verse thing they're trying to start up, they're actually making us brothers."

_Snikt_!__

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	22. The World! Will! Know!

You remember when I told you to go rent or buy a copy of Newsies, right?  You **did** go rent or buy a copy Newsies, didn't you?  I would be very **upset** if you had not followed my advice to rent or buy a copy of Newsies…

This chapter has been a long time in the making.  I knew I was going to do it since the first time I saw this scene…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A climate-controlled dome, somewhere in the frozen expanse of Alaska…

"He's really doing it, sir!"  Cried Scanner.  "Can you believe it?!  They're actually letting him make those things!  Those—Those—**Sentinels!"**

Pursing his lips, Magneto—helmetless and newly returned from the Rebirth Chamber—ascended the up the stairs from the lower quarters.  Scanner, a young, blond haired girl, and Sabertooth, his oldest and most trusted comrade, flanked him a step behind.  At the top of the stairs awaited a large crowd of young mutants whom Magneto was harboring at his retreat.  The crowd parted as he reached the top, and Magneto instinctively identified the assembled mutants in his head.

Aside from Scanner and Sabertooth, there was Gambit, a roguish Cajun.  Cortez, a red haired older teen.  Chargil, a black girl from the inner city.  Uniscione, a brunette, second-generation mutant.  Kato, a large feral mutant.  Pyro, an orange haired boy from Australia.  Projector, a black haired boy with a broken leg who was leaning on a telekinetic crutch.  Neophyte, the youngest of the crowd.  Colossus, a heavily built man from the Ukraine.  Magik, Colossus's younger sister.  Voght, a woman in her twenties.  Gargoile, a three-foot tall Frenchwoman with gray skin, horns and wings.  Decay, a prematurely old man.  The Klienstock brothers, a two-torsoed boy.  Lyric, a young black-haired girl.  Forearm, a man with four arms.  Skids, another young girl.  Rusty, Skids' off-and-on boyfriend.  And Thorn, a feral cat-like girl.

"You are sure of this, Scanner?"  

"Of course I'm sure!"  Replied the blond haired girl.  "And your son is too!  He snuck me in, and we both saw it, with our own two eyes!"

"Y'know," complained Cortez, with his slight accent, "it's bad enough that we got to **wait here in the friggin' arctic!  Now they're gunna start hunting us down!  Can you believe that?"**

"We're screwed," Pyro flippantly remarked.  "Just stick us in the flames, we're toast!"

"Dey can't do this to us," muttered Gambit, from the side.

"Calm down!"  Yelled out Magneto.  "This is nothing but a minor setback."

"**Minor?"  Cried out Rusty.  Many other mutants began voicing similar sentiments.**

"It ain't fair," whined one of the Klienstocks after the initial outburst.  

"They're huntin' us like we've got no rights at all," finished the other.

"In their eyes, we don't!"  Yelled back Chargil.  "The government doesn't know about us, so don't know we have rights to protect."

"And until they do," growled Thorn, "people can rig the deck anyway they want."

"So why don't **we** rig our own deck?"  Gambit demanded to Magneto.

As everyone started speaking at once and crowding around Magneto, Neophyte pushed his way to the front.  "Hey!"  He called out in his still-childish voice.  "Back up and let him think.  Give him some room.  Let him think…"  The complaints slowed to a trickle, and most of the mutants reluctantly took a few steps back.  With some open space around him, Magneto leaned against a wall and began drumming his fingers across his forehead.  Neophyte stood next to his master and feigned a similar contemplative pose.

For a moment, the assembled mutants looked on expectantly.

Gambit irritably flipped through a deck of cards.  "Hey boss, you done thinkin' yet?"  He asked sharply.  Uniscione shoved him into Colossus for his disrespect.

"Now listen," addressed Magneto before the crowd could start muttering again.  "One thing's for sure.  That Sentinel is the **only thing Trask and his lackeys have going for them.  Without that, he's got nothing!"**

Standing with his arms crossed in the back of the crowd, Sabertooth grunted.  "Yeah, sure.  Like we're going to take it out with a first strike?"

"Yeah!"  Confirmed Magneto.  "Like a first strike."

Pyro's mouth fell open.  "What, are you outta your **mind**?"

"It's a good idea," Magneto shouted back.

Pyro threw down his hands and many other mutants voiced their skepticism.

"It's a horrible idea," observed Kato.

"Mags, what are talking about?"  Demanded Sabertooth as he shoved his way to Magento's side.  "You can't strike first, you need a strike force to do that."

Somewhat slack-jawed, Magneto turned to face his confidant.  "Yeah, well...  If I pick some of these guys, then I **have** a strike force, right?"

"No," Sabertooth quickly contradicted.  "You'll just have a bunch of angry kids with no combat experience.  Look...  Even if you do hit the Sentinel, they'll just build another one.  Without anyone in the government seeing what he's doing, Trask will do whatever he wants."

Magneto thought hard for a moment.  "Then we **get** someone to watch over him."

"Who?"  Countered Sabertooth.  "Who in the government knows enough about mutants to care whether he comes after us?  Who knows enough to justify stopping him?  They won't care.  Because nobody will want them to care."  Sabertooth shook his head in frustration.  "Maybe if mutants were exposed to everyone on Earth, but, until then..."

"Yeah, then we'll do that!"  Proclaimed Magneto as he slapped his hands together.  "And we'll make a show of it!  We'll show the world just **who** we are, and **what** he's trying to do to us."  The crowd of mutants parted as Magneto confidently made his way through it.

Exasperated, Sabertooth ran his hand through his hair.  "Mags, this isn't a joke!  How do you expect to sneak all this past the X-Men?"

"Well that's another good idea," said Magneto as he whirled around.  "When we show the world what they're doing, we show them doing it **to** the X-Men!"

Several of the assembled mutants cheered at the thought.  

Growling to himself, Sabertooth rushed forward.  "Stop and think about this, Mags."  Sabertooth roughly grabbed Magneto by the shoulder.  "You can't just rush everybody into this!"

Magneto's face became sullen for a moment.  "Yeah, you're right.  Let me think about this..."  Magneto turned the side, then whirled back towards the others.  "You know, when you think about it, Sabertooth here is right.  Guys like Trask have a lot of power out in that world.  And Xavier, and all his people, they aren't going to do a thing about him.  They like things the way they are, and they're likely to fight to stop us from changing it.  That's a lot of power to be going up against..."  Magneto paused for emphasis.  "So the choice has got to be yours.  Are we just going to stay up here and **take** what they give us?  Or are we going to **strike?!"**

Sabertooth winced at Magneto's melodramatics.  With the questions now being directed at them, the other mutants averted their gazes and shifted uncomfortably.

Neophyte glanced around for a moment, then threw up one of his arms.  "**Strike**!"

Once a decision was voiced, the other mutants loudly supported it.  Sabertooth stared at them, dumbstruck.

"All right, boss," said Cortez.  "We're with you!  So tell us what to do."

Grinning weakly, Magneto threw his arm around Sabertooth.  "Okay, Sabertooth, this was your idea.  Why don't you tell us what to do?"

Sabertooth stared at Magneto for a moment and started wondering if his experience in the Rebirth Chamber hadn't adversely affected his mind.  After a grunt, he answered.  "Tell them that Xavier and Trask have to respect our right to make our own choices."

Seemingly thinking hard, Magneto nodded his head once.  "All right."  He took a step away from Sabertooth to address the crowd.  As he did, the fast-paced buzzing of some violins became audible in the background.  "Hey, listen!  Xavier and Trask have to respect the rights of mutants to make their own choices on things!"  The proclamation was greeted with a flurry of cheers.  "That's right!"  Magneto added.

Magneto took a discreet step back and looked over his shoulder to Sabertooth.  "Well, that went over pretty well," he half joked.  "So, what else?"

Sabertooth sighed, and gave Magneto a long, disparaging look.  "Tell them...  That they can't treat us like we don't exist."

Magneto nodded, and then leapt up onto a large boulder that served as a monument to the remains of Asteroid M.  As he did, the background music intensified.  "X-avi-er and Trask, they think we're nothing!.  Are we nothin'?!"

With a single voice, the mutants responded with a definitive "No!"

Sabertooth grunted.  "Expose everyone else, but you ought to keep some of **your** people hidden..."

Fueled by a rush of adrenaline, Magneto smiled out over the crowd.  "_X-avi-er and Trask, they think they got us.  Do they got us_?"

"_No!"_

"If you want to make these rookies a team, fine!" Yelled Sabertooth, rather annoyed by the way things were unfolding.  "But they'll have to start **acting** like a team."

Magneto began righteously circling the top of the crate as his followers gathered around it.  "_Even if they ain't been tried or tested, they're my strike force, just 'cause I say soo—ooo...  And the World!  Will!  Know!"_

"Hey, what if some of those rogue mutants get mad that we blow their cover?"  Demanded Cortez.

"Well then we'll talk to them," answered Magneto.

"Some of them don't hear too good," countered Pyro.

Magneto looked down from his spot on the boulder and smiled.  "Well then we'll **burn** them!"

Pyro's roaring laughter was almost drowned out by the cheers of the other mutants.

"No!"  Cried Sabertooth, "If you start beating mutants in the street they'll just band against you!"

"Hey, dat'd be nothing new," chimed Gambit as he tossed one of his quarterstaffs up to Magneto.

Magneto effortlessly caught the staff, striking a heroic pose while doing so.  "What's it gonna take to stop the Sentinels?  Are we ready?"

"Yes!"  Chorused the mutants.

Sabertooth pinched the bridge of his nose and growled.

"_What's it gonna take to stop the rebels?"  Asked Magneto as he used the staff to pick out various mutants in the crowd.  "__Can we do it?"_

"_Yes!"  The chorus echoed._

"_We'll do what we gotta do—ooo unitl we break,"  Magneto snapped the staff over his knee for emphasis.  "__The will of Cha-arl-es and Bo—oooh…"_

"_And the World!  Will!  Know!"  The mutants proclaimed in one voice._

Magneto chucked the broken staff over the crowd.  "_And the be-yond too_…"

Standing around the asteroid chunk, the crowd turned to face the all-scaffolding building that housed the dome's main power station.  "_Mis-ter Trask and X'vi-er have we got news for you_…" They sang together.  _"Now the World will fear...  That we're here to stay_..."

Standing in the midst of the crowd, Sabertooth stood slack-jawed with a mixture of disgust and awe.

"_We'll be makin' headlines and we're head-din' our own way...."_

Seeing that Sabertooth wasn't joining in, Lyric grabbed his arm and gave it an encouraging shake.  The feral man glanced down at the girl, and then a look of realization spread across his face.  "**You're doing this!"**

"_And our ranks will grow!"  Sang the crowd._

Projector held up one of his glowing crutches.  "_And we'll kick their rear_!"  Several nearby mutants cheerfully  slapped Projector on his back.

The crowd continued in a voice that became deeper with every beat.  "_And the World will know that we've been here_!"

"Lyric!"  Sabertooth yelled as the music modulated.  "Cut that out!"

Ignoring his lieutenant, Magneto jumped down from the boulder and began leading the mutants to the parade ground that ran around the power plant.  "If the air raid bells start ringin'," he prompted.  "Will we hear it?"

"No!"

Magneto turned around with a sneer on his face."_What if an angry Cy-clops comes out swinin', will we fear it?"_

"_No!"  _

A few of the mutants ran past Magneto and hundsprung onto the parade ground.  A second wave followed, jumping and barrel rolling off the ground and back onto their feet_.  "When you got a hun-dred voi-ces singin', who can hear the police whistles blow?"  with Magento taking the lead at the center-front of the ground, the rest of the mutants fell into rank behind him.  "__And the World!  Will!  Know!"  The mutants punctuated the line by triumphantly pumping their fists in the air._

"_Now this ain't no game..."  Gambit, Pyro, Rusty, and Cortez ran forward and leapt onto the power plant's scaffolding.  "_We've got energy to **burn and per-fect aim**_!"  After a few spins around a pole, the mutants ran back to their ranks.   As they did, Scanner, Uniscione, Skids and Chargil rushed out to meet them. "__So they gave their word..."  Continued the others as they watched__.  "But it ain't worth beans!  Now they're gon-na see what 'stop the press-es' real-ly means..."_

During the verse, the girls met the guys, and did a one-armed vault off their shoulders as they passed.  With a rough synchronization, the boys turned back to the girls, grabbed them by the arm and shoulder, and threw them into an assisted front flip.  A few of the girls showed off a bit in the spirit of things, and all eight rushed back to their positions.

Standing behind the formation, Sabertooth looked on in dismay.

"_And the day has come!"  The mutants continued.  With everyone in position, the began moving in an impromptu routine of righteousness gestures.  "_And the time is now!  And the fear is gone_!"_

Unable to follow the moves, Neophyte took a step forward.  "_And their name is mud_," he sang in counterpoint.

"_And our game is on!"  Sang the chorus._

"_And we'll see their blood!"  Neophyte finished._

Having seen enough, Sabertooth began walking forward to confront Magneto. 

"_And the World!  Will--"_

"_X'vi-er may watch the world, but he won't see us!"  Interrupted Magneto as he started walking forward._

"_X'vi-er may watch the world, but he won't see us!"  The chorus repeated, still showing off to the power plant._

Sabertooth grabbed one of Magneto's arms.  "Will you listen for a second?!"

Taking the interruption completely in stride, Magneto put both hands on Sabertooth's shoulders and looked him square in the eyes.  "_X'vi-er may crack the whip but he won't whip us_!"

"_X'vi-er may crack the whip but he won't whip uuu—uuus!"  Sang the crowd, repeating the gestures._

Turning away from Sabertooth, Magneto sprung to the air and hovered with the power plant as a backdrop.

"_And the World!  Will!  Know!"  Sang the assembled Mutants as they began series of triumphant dance moves,  "__And the world will learn…"  _

"My elite!"  Cried Magneto, with his arms outstretched.  "Those who would stand and fight...  Come **forward!"**

_"And the world will wonder how we made the tab-les turn_!"

Pyro confidently walked out of the crowd.

"_And the world will see..."_

"You get 'em, Aussie!"  Yelled one of the mutants.

"_That we had to choose..."_

"De ace of spades," laughed Gambit as he took a spot beside Pyro.

"_That the things we do to-day will be to-morrow's news!" _

Glancing to his other side, Gambit saw Colossus step up beside him.  "And de King o' Clubs," he added as he flipped a card Colossus' way.

"_And old will fall..."_

The mutants who had not stepped up knelt down and lowered their voices in time with the lyrics.

"_And the young stand tall..."_

Sabertooth stood in the center of the crowd, slowly shaking his head.

"_And the time is now...  And the winds will blow...  And our ranks will grow..."  As each line went by, mutants began to stand back up, and their voices built to a crescendo. "__And grow and grow and so..."_

Sabertooth cocked his head to the side and smiled the smile of a man who has accepted madness.  "_The world will feel the **fire**..."  He led, taking a stand next to Colossus._

"_And **fi--iiine-ly--yyy** **knooo--ooow**!"_

The last note held as long as the singers had breathe, and then exploded into a multitude of cheers.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	23. Flock of Mutants

Marvel Headquarters, Animation Division, main conference room…

Dressed in a pair of slacks and wool sweater, X-Men: Evolution producer Boyd Kirkland stepped through the door.  Glancing around the room, he saw Scott, Evan, Kurt, and Lance sitting around the conference table, chatting amongst themselves.  Upon his arrival, most of the conversations died down, and the actors turned to face him.  Stepping forward, Boyd set his briefcase next to the table and looked around the room again.  "I know it's still five 'til, but have any of you seen—"

A blur ruffled the leaves of an office plant behind Boyd, and Pietro appeared in his seat.

"Never mind," said Boyd, cheerfully.  "Well, any objections to starting the meeting a few minutes early.

"Nope."

"Nadda," added Evan.

Pietro arrogantly leaned back in his chair.  "The sooner we start, the sooner we can move on to better things."

Boyd smiled ruefully and sat down.  "Very well.  Basically, all we have for today is to run through a script idea.  After that, you all can get back to shooting."

"Vat's episode?"  Kurt asked.

"Episode 407," answered Boyd as he opened a clipped pack of papers out of his briefcase.  "The tentative title the is 'Boys of a Feather.'  Greg Johnson has already written up a loose scene synopsis for you to look over."

Ever the professional, Scott leaned forward with visible interest.  "And the pitch?"

"This my big 'return' episode, right?"  Evan added, with less enthusiasm.

Pietro sneered.  "Brilliant deduction, Holms."

Used to the way his cast bickered, Boyd held his tongue until the exchange had ended.  "Among other things, Evan.  It's also going to be a new villain intro, as well as a group spotlight.  There'll be a few character moments, but it won't be weighed down by them."

"Who's za villain?"  Asked Kurt with hint of interest.  "Since we're filming Omega Red's debut today…"

Boyd idly waved one of his hands.  "At the moment, we're thinking of doing Random.  Although Craig Kyle  has suggested that we could also use Maverick."

"But isn't Maverick from Weapon X?"  Asked Lance.  "That's Wolverine territory."

"Traditionally, yes," conceded Boyd, "but that doesn't mean Wolverine would have to be involved right away.  Craig is thinking that we could weave this into a subplot.  Weapon X agents going after H.Y.D.R.A. for their involvement with X23.  And if we involve you five in the story at this point, it would give us a reason to include you in the eventual payoff."  Boyd paused, shrugging.  "But that's just a rough idea.  Nothing is set in stone yet."

"I actually like it," observed Scott.  "It certainly beats tying Sinister to the H.Y.D.R.A. program."

"I thought so," agreed Boyd.  "Now the way we want to do this is to have the five of you band together against whichever villain we use.  The new group will be called the Flock and will played kind of like the guys' answer to the Sirens.  You'll be—"

"Woah, woah, woah!"  Interrupted Evan.  "The Sirens?  You mean the girl team from Walk on the Wild Side?"

Boyd glanced around the room and saw that everyone had suddenly become very skeptical.  "Well, yes.  Is that a problem."

"Yeah," answered Scott, speaking for everyone.  "Actually it is.  The Sirens were a horrible idea.  Making an all-guy counterpart to them is even worse."

"Now, I don't think it was that bad of an idea…"  Boyd soothed.

"Maybe not," Kurt answered. "But ze execution was lousy.  Zat whole episode vas just painful to watch."

"It sucked!"  Finished Evan with his usual bluntness.

Boyd held up his hands defensively.  "Oh, come now…  Not everyone feels it was that bad."

"I don't," added Lance.

Boyd smiled.  "See?"

Scott raised an eyebrow.  "You liked that episode, Alvers?"

Kurt gaped.  "Why?"

Pietro again leaned back in his chair.  "I don't see how you guys missed the appeal.  I laughed my head off at it."

Lance grinned smugly.  "Think about it Summers.  It was a girl power show that actually bashed girl power!  Spurned by a random act of machoness, five girls get together and create their own team.  They dress like strippers in a biker bar, and dance around as much as they fight the bad guys.  And when they **do** fight the bad guys…"  Lance smiled and leaned back.  "They go so overboard they almost kill someone without even knowing it.  It takes the jealous macho guy who followed the girls to **actually** save the day."

"Femi-nazi girl power leads to reckless abandon," continued Pietro.  "But macho chauvinism saves the day, and was still gracious enough to let the girls celebrate their own hollow victory without demanding the credit."

Lance and Pietro looked at each other, and lightly hit each other's fists in a gesture of chauvinistic righteousness.

"The episode was just one big joke at the expense of feminism."  Finished Lance.  "How cool is that?"

Boyd rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Scott stared at the two Brotherhood boys for a moment, and then looked back to Boyd.  "Still.  I think the Flock is just a bad idea."

Boyd looked towards Kurt, who weakly shook his head.

"Look, why don't you just leave me with the Morlocks for now," said Evan.

Boyd exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment.  "All right," he said after expunging his disappointment.  "I'll spend some time reworking it.  And I'll be sure to tell Craig that you didn't shoot down the Maverick idea.  We may try to work that in some other way."

"Anything else?"  Asked Scott.

"No…"  Answered Boyd as he absently looked over the script outline and scratched his head.  "Meeting adjourned, I suppose.  I'll have a few other options ready for you next week."

"Well," began Evan as he immediately stood up.  "I'm outta here."

"Off to the set…"  Kurt wearily proclaimed.  Scott chuckled and the cast members quickly exited the room.

Boyd stayed seated for a moment longer, looking forlornly down at the script.  "Drat.  And I had already gotten Boy Sets Fire to let us use one of their songs…"

"You know…"  Boyd looked up and saw Pietro leaning against the doorframe.  "If you really are looking for a counterpart for the Sirens, you can always defrost Captain America.  Then with a quick intro for Hawkeye and Henry Pym…"

"No, Pietro," Boyd muttered in annoyance.  "We are not going to introduce the Avengers."

Pietro stared at Boyd for a moment, and then his features hardened in anger.  "Well, fine!"  He yelled, and promptly disappeared in a blur.  A second later, he reappeared back at the door, slammed it, and disappeared again.

Boyd shook his head and looked back at the outline.  "This is going to be one of those weeks…"

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	24. Xavier's Paying

You know the drill by now.  This is a songfic to the tune of _The Lady's Paying_.  It's from Sunset Blvd., a musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber.  On the whole, the play isn't as good as, say, Phantom of the opera, but _The Lady's Paying_ is a great number.  Its surprising how few lines I had to change for Logan… 

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The Xavier Institute… 

The wheelchair-bound Charles Xavier was in one of the Institutes side rooms which bordered the garage.  The room was festively decorated with extravagant extra curtains, tablecloths on top of everything, and a few random balloons.  A sound system borrowed from one of the students was situated in the corner of the room, and was blasting some rather fast-paced instrumental music.  Also in the room were a multitude of wheeled clothes racks.  The racks were filled with suit coats, dress shirts, pants and various other miscellaneous garments.  The racks were attended by several well dressed men, who were scurrying about frantically.  In the midst of the workers stood Orroro Monroe, Xavier's chief assistant.

"Hur-ry up!"  Yelled Orroro, making sure her voice was heard over the bluster of the room.  "The birth-day boy is on his way.  This is a sur-prise cel-lebration."

As the assistants scurried about with renewed vigor, Xavier looked up at a particularly well dressed man who was standing next to him.  "I hope you're remembered every word I said," Xavier instructed.  "I want to see a **tot-tal** trans-formation."

The man, Manfred, had just opened his mouth to respond when the door from the garage opened.  Logan entered dressed in his usual dusty jeans and black T-shirt and carrying his beat up leather jacket over his shoulder.  Immediately noticing the decorations, he arched his eyebrow and gazed around.

"What's all this?"  He asked, casually walking up to Xavier.

"Happy birthday, Logan!"  Xavier greeted.  "Did you think we'd forgotten?"

Logan blinked in surprise.  "Uh, I don't know my—"

"Well, we just assumed," cut off Xavier.

Grinning from ear to ear, Orroro strode over to Logan's side.  "These people are from the best Men's Shop in town," she informed, gesturing to scurrying workers.  "We had them close it down for the day."

Logan cocked his head to the side.  "Men's shop?"

Oblivious to his confusion, Xavier smiled.  "We'll leave you boys to it…"  Xavier happily wheeled himself out of the room, with Orroro following close after.

The moment they had turned to leave, Manfred cheerfully slapped Logan on the back.  "_Hap-py birth-day!  Wel-come to your shop-a-thon_!"

"What's go-in' on?"  Demanded Logan as he shoved the man off of him.

Gesturing to the racks lining the room, Manfred continued without missing a beat.  "_Help your-self, it's all been tak-ken care of.  An-ny-one who's any-one is dressed by me_."  Manfred adjusted his bowtie proudly.

"Well, gol-ly gee," Logan muttered through his teeth.

"_Pick out an-ny-thing you'd like a pair of_."  Manfred practically danced over to a nearby set of racks.  "_You just point_," Manfred began running his hand across the merchandise for emphasis.  "_I'll do the rest.  I've brought no-thing but the best!  You're a ver-ry lucky cli-ent, now come a-long, and get undressed_!"  Pausing for just a moment, Manfred gazed at Logan and thoughtfully tapped his chin.  "_Un-less I'm not mistaken, that's a fift-ty-two inch chest_…"

Not having moved since Xavier left, Logan stared blankly at Manfred.  "I don't un-derstand a word you're say-ing."

Stepping forward, Manfred stuck out his head and replied in a condescending tone.  "_Well, all you need to know's Xav-vier's pay-ing_."  With a flare, Manfred gestured back to the clothes racks.  "_It's nice to get your just re-ward just once a year_!"  Manfred loudly continued.

Logan threw down his jacket and pointed to the door.  "Get out of here!"

"_And all my merch-chan-dise is strictly ko-sher_."  Manfred added.  Striding forward, he walked past Logan and scooped his coat.  "_When you've thrown a-way all your old worn-out stuff_…"

Logan reflexively darted forward and snacked his jacket out of Manfred's grasp.  "Hey, that's en-nough…"  Logan warned.

Unfazed, Manfred continued walking, coming to a cloth-covered table after only a few more steps. Picking a packet off the table, he politely turned and offered it to Logan.  "_Per-haps you'd like to mod-del fore my bro-chure_."

Logan angrily grabbed the packet and tossed it to the ground.

Standing to his full height, Manfred smiled and nodded to his assistants.  "_I've got ju—uuust the thing for you!  Chalk stripe suits_…"

"_In black_…" 

_"Or blu-uuue_…"  Finished a pair of assistants, stepping past Logan and displaying suits as they passed.

"_Green plaid trousers_…"

"_Cash-mere sweaters_…

"_Bath-thing shorts from Mal-li-bu_…"

A sixth assistant planted himself directly in front of Logan and shoved a piece of footwear in his face.  "_Here's a pa-tent leather lace up, it's a vir-tuo-so shoe_…"

Manfred again stepped forward, displaying a black jacket draped over his arm.  "_And a sim-ply marv'lous coat made of Vi-cun-na_."

Logan stared at Manfred through narrowed eyes.  "You know what you can do with your Vic-cun-na," he growled.

Xavier and Orroro chose that moment to re-enter the room.  "_Oh, Lo-gan, you hav-ven't ev-ven start-ted yet_!"  Cried Xavier, upon seeing Logan's attire.

Logan's gaze darted to the side.  "You wan-na bet?"

As she walked, Orroro held up her hands and rolled her eyes.  "_We'd thought by now you'd look the height of fash-shion_…"

"_He al-ways takes for-ever mak-king up his mind_," apologized Xavier as he wheeled up to Manfred.  "_It's just his kind_."

Coming to a stop, Orroro crossed her arms and gazed disapprovingly at Logan.  "_Come on Lo-gan, you need to show some **passion**_!"

Logan stared at his two supposed 'friends' and fought off a nervous twitch.

Shaking her head, Orroro quickly moved on.  "_I like fla—aaan-el on a man_!"  She continued, coming to a rack.

Manfred seemed to appear by her side holding out a brown shirt.  "_This will com-pli-ment his tan_…

Like a child in a candy shop, Xavier wheeled along side a rack.  "_We'll take two of these_," he gestured, "_and **four** of those_!"

"C_lothes al-ways  make the man_…"  Manfred tried to hold a tie up to Logan's neck to appraise it, but Logan stubbornly flinched away.  Shrugging, Manfred tossed the tie to the side.  "_Very soon I'll have stopped him from look-king li—iiike an also-ran_…"

Logan glowered towards Xavier.  "You're gun-na make me sor-ry that I'm stay-ing."

Xavier shrugged.  "_Well, all right, we'll choose, af-ter all, we're pay-ing_."

"_Evening clothes_?"  Interjected Manfred.

Orroro stepped forward.  "_I want to see you're most de-lux_."

"Won't wear a tux!"  Yelled Logan.

"_Of course not, friend_," soothed Xavier, "_tux-edos are for wait-ters_."

"_What we need are tails, a white tie and top hat_!"  Seemingly out of nowhere, Manfred presented a suit to Logan.

Logan's eyes bulged, and he slowly shook his head.  "I can't wear that…"

"_Friend, second rate clothes are for second-rat-ters_," chided Xavier.

"Charles, please!"  Began Logan.

"_Friend, I'm rich_," relied Xavier, casually dismissing Logan's protests with a wave of his hand.  "_You don't need to wear such kitsch_."

"_You own so man-ny of those plain shirts_," chided Orroro.  "_We've for-got-ten which is which."_

"But I—I don't go to par-ties," responded Logan. "I'm ne—ver on dis-lay."  Crossing his arms, Logan grimly faced his friends.  "You seem to for-get that I'm a lon-ner.  You don't wear crap like that," Logan angrily pointed towards Manfred.  "When you're a lon-ner."

"_Logan, please just try some on, you're fam-mil-ly_…" Pleaded Xavier with a disarming grin.

"Oh, whatever…"  Logan muttered, giving in.

"Besides," cheerfully continued Orroro, "You can't help chaperone the Prom in that filling-station shirt."

Logan's mouth dropped open for a beat.  "I am **not** chaperoning a dance!"  He finally managed to get out.

"I can't do this a-lone," pleaded Orroro, "I **ne—ed** you!"

"You can't back out," added Xavier, "You have an obliga-tion."

Logan dejectedly lowered his head and ran his fingers through his hair.  "All right, Orroro, I give in."

"Of course you do," Orroro cheerfully cut in, throwing up her arms.  "And when we've dressed you, you'll cause a sensa-tion!"

At a signal from Xavier, the assistants darted forward again and began streaming past Logan.  "_We e-quip the cho-sen few ac-cross the land_."

"_The lat-test cut_," interjected Manfred.

"_We dress every ladies man and crooner.  From their shin-ny toecaps to their hatband_."  Logan took a swipe at a salesman who got too close.

"_Conceal your gut_," added Manfred, appearing beside Logan in his confusion.  Before the man could react, Manfred had draped a coat over his shoulders.  "_You won't re-gret selecting the vi-cu-na_," he appraised.

Whirling around, Logan snatched the jacket and glowered at Manfred.  As he did, the assistant salesmen reformed their ranks.

"_If you need a hand to shake_," they chorused, striding past Logan.  "_If there's a girl you want to make.  If there's a soul you're out to capture, or a heart you want to break_!"  Again, Logan took a swipe at a passing assistant.  The assistant nimbly jumped to the side, while the assistant behind him managed to fling a sash around Logan's waist.  Another salesman managed to get a tie over Logan's head before they all broke off.  "_If you want the world to love you_…"

"_You'll ha—ave to learn to take_," injected Manfred, again appearing at the flustered Logan's side.

Logan inadvertently snarled as he tore off the tie.

"_And grace-ful-ly ac-cept the role you're play-ing_," chorused the assistants, standing at attention along the racks.

As Logan angrily threw his tie on the ground, Manfred again stepped in front of him and glanced down appraisingly.  "_You'll look worth ev-'ry cent Xavier's paying_."

At a hand gesture from their boss, the assistants strode forward.  "_So why not have it aaaa—aaaaaaaaalll_…"  As they paraded past him, each assistant piled an armful of clothes atop and increasingly irritated Logan.

"Now that didn't hurt, did it?"  Asked Manfred in an extraordinarily irritating voice.

With Logan nearly bristling, the assistants turned and clicked their heels together.  "_Xavier's pay-ing_!"  They finished.

The silence held for a moment.

_Snikt_!

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	25. Swan Song

The cafeteria, noontime…

The Bayville High commons, as it often was, was packed.  Save for the foolhardy souls who dared to brave the parking lot, the entire student body was milling about.  The jocks were clustered around the a la cart line, the fashion girls were lingering under the north skylight, the preps occupied two tables along the hall entrances, the musicians claimed the three next to them, the drama crowd found themselves uncomfortably wedged between the jocks and a table of sullen trench-coated Goth holdouts, while the techies had grabbed the center of the commons for themselves, devoting one table for spectator chess, another for cards, and a full two tables for a round-table debate about whether _Babylon 5_ was or was not the most kick-ass television show of all time.  Other non-aligned cliques claimed tables around the center, using the techies' proximity to define an informal neutral ground.  In the background, a recording of the most recent choir concert was played over the school speakers.  

In the midst of such chaos, a lone boy picked his way to his designated table.  "Ooh!  Pardon me," he said as he bumped into a girl with a heavy trenchcoat.  The boy quickly readjusted his grip on his tray and continued on his way.  The girl, tall, with long and extremely pale hair, grumbled to herself and continued moving towards the Goth table.

"Ey, congratulations, Erin," hailed one of her friends as she arrived.  "If they use this take, you'll be on-screen again."

The girl, Erin Valchek, sneered derisively.  "**Pfft**.  Right."

The speaker, a boy with greased black hair and a sloping forehead, grinned mockingly.  "I know," he continued.  "It could finally be your big break!"

A short, over-muscled black boy with sunglasses tugged uncomfortably at his trenchcoat.  "It'll be the **only** break any of us ever get," he muttered.

"Bas..."  Chided the white kid who was sitting next to him.

"Well of course Erin gets the break," continued the greased kid.  "She's the babe.  Babes are always the standout."

"George!"  Barked the leader of the table.  "Knock it off.  And Bas, you lay off, too."  The other kids reluctantly obeyed, and the leader went back to sulking over a can of soda.  The leader was of medium build with dyed pink hair, and wore a rather threadbare gray trenchcoat over his jeans and AC/DC T-shirt.

"Aw, come on, Ruckus," said 'Lith, the kid who was sitting next to Bas.  "They're just havin' some fun."

Erin sneered at 'Lith.  "Would you stop--"

Erin was interrupted as several mechanical thuds were broadcast over the commons' intercom.

"Can it, mates," cut in Ruckus.  "Just play your parts..."  Obediently, but reluctantly, all six kids at the table went silent and looked up at the ceiling.

"Ahem," a voice began.  There were brief sounds of a microphone being adjusted.  "That was the Bayville High _Singers_' performance of…  Ah, I don't know.  Something in Greek."

"Latin," a voice corrected.

In the relative quiet, Evan Daniels' voice carried across the room. "Toad and Alvers...  This can't be good."

"And Dukes..."  Echoed the voice of Scott Summers.

"Latin then," finished the voice from the speakers.  "And now, a very special performance by the Men's Harmonic Glee Club.  Today they will be singing…  Kurt's Mom is a Stupid Bitch."

There was a slight pause, and then half the commons erupted in laughter.

"What?"  Asked Lance through the speakers.  "What'd I miss."

"So much for your break," chimed the sixth kid at the table, as chatter filled the room again.

Annoyed that the joke was still being continued, Erin rolled her eyes.  "Big loss."

"So what happened, Antrho?"  Asked 'Lith.  "You got the best view..."

Antrho, an anthropomorphic white wolf who was covered in a heavy black trenchoat and a large top-hat, did his best to grin.  "You know how Kurt's mouth was supposed to fall open just then?  Well, it did, and some pizza fell out of it."  Anthro chuckled at the thought of it.

"Oh, that's just sick!"  Snarled Erin.

Ruckus jerked his head up.  "Erin--"

A stage bell rang.  "Okay, everyone," came the voice of Boyd Kirkland.  "Take places and start again.  B.T.P., Chapter Thirteen, take three, aa—**aaand action**!"

As the room livened up again, Ruckus angrily turned to face Erin.  "Lighten up.  That's an order.  You've been in a bad mood all day, and it's starting to annoy me."

"You, annoyed?"  Mocked Erin.  "Big surprise."  Before she could say anything else a half filled pop can nailed her in the shoulder.  "**_Gyow_**!"  She gasped out as the reflexively pulled away.

Ruckus crossed his arms menacingly.  "I said knock it off, and I mean it."

George snorted to himself.  "Oh, but you **can** be all pissy?"

"Ruckus isn't pissy," 'Lith countered.  "He's the boss, an' he wasn't being obeyed.  There's difference."

"Cut!"  Yelled out Boyd from across the room.  "Kurt, lets try that again, but this time without smacking Evan with your backpack.  Everyone else, as you were..."

George took the opportunity to stand up.  "Don't listen to him, Kurt!"  He halfheartedly yelled out.  "Improvise!  That's the key to stardom..."  Extras from some nearby tables laughed as George sat back down.

Beneath his overbearing trenchcoat, Antrho chuckled to himself.  "Good one, 'gorgeous.'  What would any of us know about stardom?"

George's face contorted.  "Hey shut--"  The boy cut himself off as he tried to grab Antrho from across the table.  Anthro reflexively pulled back and scooted towards Ruckus.  Predictably, Ruckus grabbed George's arm and threw the boy back into his seat.

"All of you, listen!"  Ruckus snarled, momentarily lapsing into his heavy Australian accent.  "I don't care if you're in a bad mood, I don't care if your pissed off, I don't care about any of it!  Just simmer down!  You keep this you'll get us thrown off the set!  You want that?"

Glowering at Ruckus, George reluctantly sat back down.  Beside him, Erin defiantly crossed her arms and glared at Ruckus.

"**Ku—uuurt**?!"  Boyd interrupted again.  "You're killing me here!  Are you tripping over your own tail now?"

"Sorry!"  The young boy yelled back.  "Just noticed that Amanda vas vone of za extras..."

Boyd groaned audibly.  "Try it again, everyone..."

As chatter once again filled the room, Ruckus glared at the other kids at his table.  "Get this through your heads...  We're not here to put on a show.  We aren't the stars any more.  We aren't going to make it into the series, and there isn't going to be a sequel.  The Nasty Boyz are over.  Done.  Finished.  Our part has been fulfilled."  Taking a deep breath, Ruckus settled back into his seat.  "So lets not try to kill each other, and do this gig like professionals."

After a moment, Anthro stuck his head up.   "We might still make it into the series."

"Kirkland has already said the fourth season is aaa—aaall Apocalypse," countered 'Lith.  "No Sinister, no us."

"Always a fifth season," Bas muttered.

'Lith shrugged.  "Might not be a fifth.  Four seasons will make 52 episodes, which is what they like for syndication."

"I thought that was 65 episodes"  Piped Anthro again.

"Maybe it changed," answered 'Lith.  "The Apocalypse arc is meant to be a big finish anyway, so..."

As if on cue, the background music cut off, and several mechanical thuds echoed through the commons.

"Remember guys," said Ruckus as he looked up.  "Like professionals..."

"Ahem," a voice began.  There were brief sounds of a microphone being adjusted.  "That was the Bayville High _Singers_' performance of…  Ah, I don't know.  Something in Greek."

"Latin," a voice corrected.

"Toad and Alvers..."  Recited Evan.  "This can't be good."

"Bet Dukes is there, too..."  Scott's voice echoed.

"Latin then," finished the voice from the speakers.  "And now, a very special performance by the Men's Harmonic Glee Club.  Today they will be singing…  The Ballad of Misses Landers."

Anthro cocked his head to the side.  "Hey, wasn't it something else, earlier.

A few opening notes on a toy piano were played, and which was then joined by the rich bass of  Fred Dukes.  "_Mi—iiise-eees… Landers was a health nut, she cooked food in a wok!  Mister Harris was her boyfriend,  and he had a great big—_

"_Cock-a-doodle-doodle.  The rooster just won't quit.  And I don't want my breakfast, because it tastes like_—"

With his arms crossed, George glared balefully across the table at Ruckus.  "Like professions, huh boss?"

"_Shitzus make good house-pets, they're cuddly and sweet!  Monkey's are-en't good to have, because they like to beat their_—"

With his head tilted angrily to the side, Ruckus closed his eyes.  "'Lith, you have your boom box with you?"

"Yeah," the jock-turned-goth quickly replied.

Ruckus' head tilted further.  "Then you're with me."  Ruckus abruptly shoved himself away from the table and began stalking across the room.  'Lith hurried after him a second later, carrying a large boom box.

"Uh-oh..."  Antrho observed.

"Ah, whatever," dismissed Erin as she leaned back in satisfaction.  "They did this scene right on the first take, anyway..."

"_Meetings in the office, or meetings in the halls.  The boss he wants to see you, so you can suck his_—

"_Balsac was a writer.  He lived with Allen Bunt.  Miss Roberts didn't like him, but that's cause she a_—

"_Contaminated water, can really make you sick.  Your bladder gets infected, and blood comes out your—_

"_Dictate what I'm saying, for it will bring you luck!  And if you all don't_—"

Fred was abruptly cut off by the sound of someone being thrown against the wall.  A loud grunt of exertion came soon after, followed by the sound of something banging against the microphone.

"Wow," observed Erin with a hint of genuine admiration.  "Two hits and they've already folded.

Anthro did his best to grin again.  "Ruckus has still got it."

"Cut!"  Yelled out Boyd, annoyed, but not quite angry.  "People, what are you trying to--"

The microphone thudded as it was hastily uncovered, and a beat began being broadcast.  Ruckus joined in a moment later.

"_C'mon, feel the noi—iiise_!"  He yelled, over the song.  "_Gi—iiirls rock your bo—oooys!"_

"Forget it," Boyd finished.  "Have your fun.  Main cast, meet me at two in the green room to look over the next few scripts..."

With permission given to rock out, several of the jocks raised their arms and yelled.

"_We'll get wi—iiild wi—iiild wi—iiild_..."

"Hey, that didn't go so bad!"  Said Anthro.

"_Wi—iiild!  Wi—iiild!  Wi—iiild_!"  Several jocks joined in on the refrain as the extras began milling about as their own accord.

Anthro tossed off his overcoat and joined the quiet riot ensuing around him.  Rolling her eyes, Erin walked off after him.

"_So you think i've got an evil mind?  I'll tell you honn—ey...  I do—ooon't kno—ooow  why_!"

"_I do—ooon't kno—ooow why_!"  The rockers in the crowd repeated.

Remaining behind, George crossed his arms and sulked into his chair.  "So what?  We'll still never make it on screen again," he said, looking over at Bas.  "Mark my words..."

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Author's note:  Well, looks like Beyond the Pale is going on hiatus again.  I just can't seem to keep up the enthusiasm.  Still have plenty of ideas archived in my head, just not the time or the will to write them down…  So the story is just going to pause here for a while until my will to write comes back.  And if it doesn't…  Well, chapter 25 is a good place to close the story, I suppose.  There's a touch of significance to it…

'Til later.  Crash.


End file.
